


Land of Silence

by AkitsuneLune



Series: Warriors Kingdoms [3]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cinderpaw POV, Cinderpelt POV, F/M, First Person, Forest of Secrets AU, IT'S SANDSTAR LADS I'M EXCITED, M/M, Minor Character Death, One-sided CinderFire, SANDSTAR - Freeform, Sandstar AU, Small canon divergences, TPB AU, also a big canon divergence, but... we'll get there, redtail the stepfather, super angsty dude this one's gonna be rough, switching POVs, swords and magic and eclampsia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 130,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26494924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkitsuneLune/pseuds/AkitsuneLune
Summary: Thundria is in danger. The kingdoms are turning on each other and Sir Cawle's treachery is still unknown by the court. Fiyr and co. race to find out exactly what happened in the battle for the village of the Sun Rocks before other secrets come to light and tear down everything they've built. Fantasy AU of Forest of Secrets.
Relationships: Barley/Ravenpaw (Warriors), Cinderpelt & Yellowfang (Warriors), Firestar & Graystripe (Warriors), Firestar/Sandstorm (Warriors), Graystripe/Silverstream (Warriors)
Series: Warriors Kingdoms [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617727
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24





	1. Prologue and Allegiances

**Author's Note:**

> SUP DUDES we've made it to book 3, Land of Silence. This one's gonna be a whole lot (and better written, this is stuff I wrote in the last year). If you've not read any of the other stuff, you'll be hella confused but you know, maybe that's your deal. I won't stop you.
> 
> Anyway, enjoyy I love writing dramatique prologues

** CHARACTERS **

** Kingdom of Thundria **

Queen Bluelianna Star—Tall woman with long, gray-blue hair and blue eyes. (Bluestar)

Captain of the guard: Tigre Cawle—Enormous man with short-cropped brown hair, amber eyes, and broad shoulders. (Tigerclaw)

Court Healer: Yllowei Fennen—Old woman with frizzy gray hair and a flat face, formerly of the court of Shodawa (Yellowfang)

Knights-

Whit Strommer—Tall, white-haired man with strange hazel eyes. (Whitestorm)

Darriek Styrp—Slick man with gray and black streaked hair and hazel eyes. (Darkstripe)

Liang Teyl—Thin, young man with long blonde hair with streaks of black and blue eyes. (Longtail)

Rynnin Wynnd—Short, wiry man with sandy brown hair and blue eyes. (Runningwind)

Willowamina Peilte—Graceful, ash-blonde haired woman with long limbs. (Willowpelt)

Mauzian Fyrra—Wiry, spry woman with short, light brown hair. (Mousefur)

Graie Sterrip—Short, chubby man with fluffy gray hair and yellowish-hazel eyes. (Graystripe)

Fiyr Harte—Tall, skinny ginger-haired man with bright green eyes. (Fireheart)

Duss Peyelt—Short man with dark brown hair and amber-brown eyes. (Dustpelt)

Samn Schorme—Lanky, strawberry blonde-haired woman with greenish-gray eyes. (Sandstorm)

Ladies of the court: (Pregnant or raising children)

Frostialla Fuor—Tall, beautiful woman with long white hair and blue eyes. (Frostfur)

Brindellia Faise—Pretty, chubby woman with creamy brown-blonde hair and green eyes. (Brindleface)

Goldanna Flourer—Gorgeous, golden-blonde haired woman with light blue eyes. (Goldenflower)

Speikell Tiall—Long, oddly streaked long hair that she keeps in a long braid, stern hazel eyes. (Speckletail)

Squires: (Training to be knights)

Sewif—Short, skinny boy with black and white streaked hair and brown eyes. (Swiftpaw)

Cindra—Very short, chubby girl with gray hair and blue-gray eyes. (Cinderpaw)

Brakken—Brown haired boy with brown eyes. (Brackenpaw)

Elders-

Heff Tyle—Tall, broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair and an arm missing. (Halftail)

Samal Eyre—Wizened old man with gray hair. (Smallear)

Wonn Eie—Short, wise woman with graying hair and an eye-patch. (One-eye)

Dapplianne Tayel—Once-beautiful tall woman with long, shiny dark brown hair with golden-blonde highlights. (Dappletail)

Braukkin—Broad-shouldered, battle-scarred man with close-shave brown hair. (Brokentail)

** Kingdom of Wynnd **

****

King Tahliorius Star—Tall man with long, black and white hair. (Tallstar)

Captain of the Guard: Daede Futt—Wiry, tall man with black hair and a twisted foot. (Deadfoot)

Court Healer: Barrik Feas—Short dark-haired man. (Barkface)

Knights-

Meude Kelaw—Broad-shouldered, dark-haired man. (Mudclaw)

Squire—Vebbe

Tuoren Ayer—Tall, thin man with streaked brown hair. (Tornear)

Squire—Roanin

Owen Newskar—Young man with sandy brown hair. (Onewhisker)

Squire—Georse

Whytt Teali—Small woman with short white hair. (Whitetail)

Marrani Flor—Short woman with brown, white, and red hair. (Morningflower)

Ladies of the court: (Pregnant or raising children)

Ashra Fote—Tall, muscular gray-haired woman. (Ashfoot)

** Kingdom of Rivier **

****

King Crukkedaro Star—Tall, broad-shouldered man with curly brown hair. (Crookedstar)

Captain of the Guard: Leaparra Fore—Lean, muscular woman with curly golden hair and sharp amber-brown eyes. (Leopardfur)

Court Healer: Mede Frer—Short man with long brown hair. (Mudfur)

Knights-

Bellack Clah—Tall man with long black hair. (Blackclaw)

Squire—Heffeigh

Stowen Feur—Broad-shouldered man with close-cropped gray hair and scars. (Stonefur)

Squire—Sheyd

Lowd Baley—Dark brown-haired man. (Loudbelly)

Squire—Zilfer

Silaverre Strime—Lean, beautiful silver-haired woman with pale eyes. (Silverstream)

Garais Wesschar—Muscular man with light brown hair and pale green eyes. (Grasswhisker)

Elders-

Girai Paolle—old woman with thinning gray hair and hazel eyes. (Graypool)

** Kingdom of Shodawa **

King Naitienne Star—Thin, black-haired man with asthma. (Nightstar)

Captain of the Guard: Cinnier Faer—Thin, elderly gray-haired man. (Cinderfur)

Court Healer: Raninn Naos (Runningnose)

Knights-

Stoumpei Toile—Short, gray-haired man without a hand (Stumpytail)

Bellue Faet—Skinny, gray-haired young man. (Bluefoot)

Squire- Oke

Laitlte Cleud—Tiny man with dark brown hair. (Littlecloud)\

Ladies of the court: (Pregnant or raising children)

Dawhnnea Clouhd—Small, brown-gold-haired woman. (Dawncloud)

Daerkki Follar—Black-haired woman. (Darkflower)

Elders-

Aish Faor—Thin, haggard old man with graying hair. (Ashfur) Ash magic

** Outlanders, Mercenaries, and God-toys **

Ravne—Lanky man with black hair and one white stripe and blue eyes. (Ravenpaw)

Barrleigh—Tall, muscular man with black and white streaked hair and blue eyes. (Barley)

Boldair—Tall, thin, dark gray haired man (Boulder)

Blayke Fouhte—Short, broad-shouldered man with white hair. (Blackfoot)

Clehw Fiace—Short, brown-haired man (Clawface)

Prologue.

In some part of his mind, Oeak has always known that every time his eyes met Bluelia’s, he was playing with fire. However, he has never truly believed that in his heart until he was looking down at the body of his frozen daughter.

She is so _small_ and so _cold_. It’s no wonder the winter wind’s chill overtook her so fast; there wasn’t much to overtake at all.

He swallows hard.

But he cannot fixate on his loss. The other two need him now. He supposes they need new names; Thundria would make the connection too easily otherwise. They might still, if the two take after Bluelia too much. She had said they hadn’t demonstrated quite yet, so he knows there is still hope to hide the truth.

Oeak holds them closer in his arms as he picks his way down the rocky ridge that separates Thundria from the Rivien sea. He can see the lights of the village of the Sun Rocks in the distance—tensions have been rising and another futile battle over it doesn’t seem far off, but right now his world has narrowed to the fading warmth of two small children in his arms.

His son.

His daughter.

It doesn’t feel quite real, in this pale space between midnight and dawn.

His other daughter.

He swallows again.

Oeak knows they need shelter—cover from the biting cold—but he wouldn’t risk a stop in any village, much less the village of the Sun Rocks. The boat he came in is still lashed to the single straggly root he found poking out of the pebbly beach what feels like a life-time ago. He kneels by it and with fumbling fingers, pulls the knot loose. He needs to put down the boy— _his son_ —to do it, and when it is free, he gathers him back up in his arms tightly.

If he doesn’t keep him against his own body heat, Oeak knows too well what will happen to this son of his. He will not lose another child tonight. _She will be buried in Thundrian_ and _Rivien soil. She will rest easy in the Starlaxi._ He trusts that Bluelia will keep her promise that far. His daughter has fallen asleep, but his son was jostled awake when he untied the mooring. Oeak hushes him as the little boy tries to speak.

He carries them to the water’s edge and is briefly grateful that the winter hasn’t been so harsh as to freeze the edge of the sea. _It was hard enough,_ he knows. He lowers them carefully into the boat. It creaks softly and Oeak cringes at the noise. No one should be out at this hour, he knows, but even so, the sound is too real, too noticeable. Some little part of him wishes _nothing_ about this night was real.

He steps into the boat, careful not to move too quickly, because he knows that will make the boat bob and _that_ will awaken the children. He also knows that it’s much easier if they’re sleeping. He takes an oar in each hand, the polished handles fitting with familiarity against his calloused hands. And then with a _swish_ of rippling water, he has pushed them off the beach.

It is only a few minutes of rowing before Thundrian territory has faded into an inky smudge in the darkness. A tension that he didn’t know was lingering eases from his shoulders as it disappears almost completely into the darkness. They’re back in Rivien territory. He knows these waters—these waters make sense. There is only the sweat on his back and the sound of the water and the light of the moon hanging around him. There is no quick-laughing Thundrian love with ideas and flashing, bright blue eyes. There is no tiny daughter, too small and too cold, buried on Thundrian _and_ Rivien land.

_Swish. Swish._

Sweat begins to streak his forehead, but he doesn’t dare take a hand off the oar to wipe it. It streams down, slowly, then slips under his dark brow and into his eye. He winces at the sting, blinking hard to clear it.

_That_ is why when he sees the other boat in the distance, he hopes it is the sweat lingering and making him see things that are not really there. He shouldn’t be at the Rivien galleon yet, he knows, and so what is this boat? He had charted the path carefully—the court planned the course of the main ship deliberately from week to week, like clockwork. Had he lost track of time while he was rowing?

No, this boat is too small to be the main galleon. This is simply a patroller.

His breath catches sharply. Had the captain of the guard sent out a patrol at this abnormal time? _Crukked is going to be an uncle. Is he going to sabotage the arrival of his niece and nephew by accident?_ Oeak fears that he might have, but prays to the Starlaxi that he is mistaken

Perhaps if his brother has come on the patrol himself, there will be a chance for Oeak to fabricate _something_. He never was a good liar, though, and the patrol boat is getting uncomfortably close. He doesn’t think they’ve spotted him yet; no light is directed at his boat, and no challenge has been called out, but he’s certain it won’t be long now. The treacherous, swelling waves are pressing him closer to the other boat, and he can’t row too quickly or the sound of the water on his oars will surely draw their attention immediately.

He is preparing for the worst when, from the corner of his eye, he sees his daughter stirring. She blinks awake and his heart drops—if he is to lose everything, he doesn’t want her to have to see it. But he quickly realizes that she is not planning on being a passive witness. He has only seen it once before, but when his daughter’s blue, blue eyes are widening like she’s somehow seen the Starlaxi, he wonders if this is their preservation... or their downfall.

She looks up suddenly, staring at the sky awash in radiant starlight, and then a tremor runs through her small body.

_No… but is it possible?_

He watches in amazement as his daughter looks at him, then out at the other boat with a level of awareness he cannot believe she possesses. Then— _then_ the mist rolls in.

Like steam, a thick white cloud begins on the water’s surface, then rises—to the level of the boat, to the level of the children, then over Oeak’s head in a ghostly shroud—before it thickens. When it does, the air is wet and heavy against Oeak’s skin. He knows what has just happened, and that it will need to be handled soon, but for now, he is just grateful for it.

As quickly as he dares, he pulls back the oars and sets the boat in movement once more with one smooth action. They cut through the fog easily and it spreads back into the space they leave, obscuring the other boat entirely.

Oeak doesn’t dare speak—it’s impossible to tell how far they’ve gotten away from the patrol boat—but he mouths a silent prayer to the Starlaxi anyways. His daughter has spared them for now, and though it is far from the right time, pride flickers in him at the breadth and thickness of the mist. _She’s so strong. She’ll be strong in Rivier._ He just prays that she will never fight a battle against Thundria. _No Thundrian knight could harm them; either of them._

After a few minutes, he judges that he is far enough from where he encountered the patrol boat that he can risk a brief pause. He releases the oars, wipes sweat from his brow, and reaches into his pocket to find the ornate compass. The mist makes it difficult to navigate, and he has no doubt this little mist-elementalist daughter of his will be a terrible pain to her mentor in the future. His heart is full of love for both of them already.

The compass says that he’s going south. He adjusts his course, tries to remember where the galleon should be now, and sets off once more. Both of his children are again in sleep after his daughter’s demonstration and he is hit with another wave of gratefulness. _One demonstration is enough for today. Take your time, son._

The mist has just begun to dissipate when the galleon comes into view. He breathes out, too tired to do much but whisper another _thank you_ to the Starlaxi. Now, all he needs to do is get them inside. They are safe, now. The of them. That thought provokes a swelling wave of grief that he will have to take on when they are warm inside.

Checking to make sure again that they’re fast asleep, he lashes the rope to the two hooks on either end of the boat, then throws the rope up to the deck, praying that whoever is on guard hasn’t fallen asleep. A figure appears on the rail, waving to him to let him know it is secure. A moment later, the silhouette has thrown the rest of the rope back down to him. _They must think I am the patroller._

He is alone—this is not how a boat should be hauled up, much less a boat with two children in it, but he grabs the rope bravely all the same. It isn’t too far up to the railing, but it feels like a lifetime away; his arms are weak from rowing and his breath is coming in heaving gasps, but he loops it around his palms—once, twice—and begins to pull.

Arm over arm, he hauls them up the side. The boat sways slightly as he pulls it free of the water’s grasp and he growls in exertion, arms shaking uncontrollably. Everything in him strains as he pulls again. _One, two, one, two_. He is exhausted, but if he releases this rope now, he and his two children will plummet to the water, and he will _not_ let that happen. The rope is a part of his arms now. Arm over arm. His life-force awakens to the exertion, almost curious, and he sees the wooden siding of the rowboat begin to ripple slightly, responding, but he ignores it. It cannot help him now. Sweat begins to drip again, first in rivulets, then in streams down his back. As he raises them further and further along the side of the galleon, the figure on the railing sees that he is hauling alone and begins to pull along with him.

He is half-dizzy, and fairly sure he is half-dead when the edge of the boat scrapes against the railing. The figure, who he now recognizes as Lady Otera Spelache, secures the boat to the edge of the galleon and he releases the rope with a heavy, heavy breath. They are safe, suspended 16 metres above the water exactly. After the last galleon was destroyed, he helped build this one himself. As he picks up his two children with shaking hands, apologizing in an incoherent mutter to his son as a droplet of sweat falls from his forehead and lands on him, Lady Spelache watches wordlessly. He passes them over the railing to her and she takes them, carefully setting each one down on the deck.

He takes hold of the railing, sweat and torn calluses making it hard to get a grip, and swings himself over the railing as well.

“You…” Lady Spelache begins, but he just shakes his head, still breathing hard. She nods and watches as he scoops up his children and sets off shakily towards the lower deck.

Oeak almost stumbles on the stairs, but after everything he’s been through tonight, stairs will not be the last straw. By the time he reaches the third level down, his children are asleep again and he hopes they won’t have to face the world without their sister until the next morning.

The nursery is quiet, save for one woman sitting at a desk, reading, the only sound, soft pages turning. Candlelight flickers over her face and he pauses for a moment, taking in the black bruise-like smudges under her eyes, stark against her ghostly-white face. He almost wonders why she can’t sleep, but the thought has barely arisen before he remembers and swallows hard, holding his children closer to his chest. Cold comfort.

“Girai?” His own voice surprises him. It is hoarse. He sounds haunted. It is not entirely untrue; this night has given him ghosts he will carry for the rest of his life.

Her head turns like an owl. It is unnerving, but he’s used to it by now. Her sharp, hazel gaze pins itself to him, but doesn’t linger long before dropping to the two children in his arms.

“Sir Hahrte. What in the name of the Starlaxi are _those?_ ” Her voice is similarly crackly from disuse, but Oeak would guess it is because she has been reading for hours without speaking in between, not because of anything similar to what _he’s_ done tonight

He falters and looks down as though the two peaceful faces tilted up at him can tell him something. My _son and daughter._ Bluelia’s _son and daughter. The two surviving ones. The mist elementalist and the undeclared. My sole reason for living._

“Children.”

Girai gives him a look. She has had the exasperated look of an elder since the age of fourteen and only now have the lines in her face begun to agree with it.

“Where.”

“Pardon me?” He’s stalling now. Why can’t she just take the children and let him wash himself off and find them beds?

“Where did you find them?” she demands.

“I was—I was on a supply run,” he lies. “And I’d just gotten back from Sun Rocks when I heard them crying. Someone must’ve abandoned them.”  
An eyebrow cocks skeptically.

“I don’t know, Girai, but they need your help!” He is desperate. He has gotten this far with his own strength and resolve, but when it comes time to rely on another, he is faltering. _Of course._ _This is why the king made Crukked captain over you,_ a part of him announces. It is not the first time that part has made such an announcement.

She sighs. A crack in the stone. He is swamped with relief, and when she opens her arms, he lets his son slip gently into her lap. The sleeping child looks natural there. _This may yet still work._

“The truth, Oeak? Where did they come from?” she asks.

“I—I’m telling the truth. I didn’t steal them, for the Starlaxi’s sake, Girai!”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t think you had, I just—it’s so _cold_ out tonight. Who would abandon _children_ out in this _?_ ”

“Gods, maybe? Or—perhaps some poor god-toy who didn’t want her children to have that kind of life?” Oeak volunteers. This part, he has practiced, and sure enough, Girai softens.

“Perhaps. I just…” She looks down at the boy in her arms and he sees anguish cross her face. Her voice is soft as she says, “I know what it is to lose a child and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

He shakes his head. “I know, I—I know you do. But… truly, they have no one. Only—” _Only you_ almost passed his lips. But no matter the current traditions of women raising children, he doesn’t believe in it and neither did Bluelia. And to leave them now, let them grow up alone, would kill him, he knows it. The court will be suspicious if he is overly attached to these two, strange children, but he doesn’t see another option. His ambition burned in him before, but now all he can feel is helpless love for his two children, and helpless loss for the one left behind. _I have made mistakes, irreparable, unforgivable mistakes, but they are innocent. They will have a good life and I will love them unconditionally until I die, and from the Starlaxi, forever after that._ “Only us.”

Girai nods. She brushes his son’s hair back from his face and hugs him to herself, so tenderly, as though she’s afraid he’ll crumble. His heart aches and he kneels before Girai, holding his daughter out to her. Trembling, she takes her as well and shifts carefully to let them both rest comfortably on her lap.

“I need to go clean myself up.” He doesn’t want to look directly into her eyes because he knows what he’ll see pooling there and if she begins to cry, he will too, and he doesn’t want to answer questions about it. “Could I… do you think it would be alright if I slept in here tonight?”

Girai’s voice is rough as she answers, “Of course.”

He stands quickly and risks one glance back as he exits the nursery. She has lowered her head to bury her face in the shoulder of his son.

She will almost certainly check the Trace, he knows, and feel Thundria on them soon enough. Perhaps she had already. He always was a horrible liar.


	2. Chapter 1 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chonk chapter

Chapter 1 - Fiyr

My bag is light and it’s making me anxious.

As guilty as it makes me feel, I’m grateful that the battle was in the Wynnder castle and not ours. I can’t imagine how they’re rebuilding in the winter. We have enough trouble trying to get all the supplies to help the court’s injuries and feed us through the season without needing to tax stone, wood, and glass from the villages.

Taking the supplies from the different storefronts didn’t feel good either; looking at the merchants’ faces, it felt like taking too much, but then thinking of the empty stomachs waiting back in the court, what they could give me didn’t feel like enough. All the same, there’s not much I can do; it’s the queen who sets the orders and the villagers don’t have much of a choice. In theory, they could plead their case at court, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen that happen.

Blitz brings us to a halt on her own, and I leave my thoughts to blink. _Oh. We’re back._ I give her a pat and dismount, letting her find her way to the patch of grass that’ll move her from the forest floor to the pavilion in front of the castle.

Freed from the admittedly-light weight of the supplies, I scale the ladder. The bark of the trees that stand beneath the castle are slick with ice and no one can see me anyway. I flex my gloved hands as I pull myself up the ladder. For no reason I could explain, a memory of being a squire comes back to me. I used to get so tired on this ladder at the end of a day of training, especially if we’d been shooting or sword-fighting, but now it’s as easy as going up stairs. My upper body strength is better than it was when I was twelve. _Stellar observation, Fiyr._

As I pull myself over the edge of the leaves, it occurs to me that I’m strong enough to manage the advanced manoeuvres that I used to stare at in the books I had to teach myself with when I was a god-toy. It seemed so impossible to me, then, but I guess I never really thought I’d grow up. Or have any future beyond the estates.

It’s been a while, but the same flood of gratitude that I always feel when I consider my old life washes over me as I remember who I used to be. Lately, it’s been accompanied by a dull ache as I remember that I can’t save Prin. I don’t know how I was spared being spirit-clipped or dying after losing the influence of the gods, but I wouldn’t risk Prin’s life the same way.

It’s snowing again.

I glance up at the sky in time for a fat snowflake to land right on my nose. I sneeze and glance around for Blitz so I can unload the supplies and take her back to the stables. As I pull the saddlebags off her, I’m reminded again that it’s going to be a hard winter. It doesn’t feel like there are more than a dozen apples in here, but I saw the hard set of the face of the woman who owns the orchard and I know she’s giving all she can, and maybe more after that.

We’re just spread too thin.

I sigh and lead Blitz to the knights’ stables, hoping that she’ll have some shelter from the cold in there, at least. It’s remarkably clean and I’m warm with gratitude—I’d asked Brakken to clean them and he obviously did a thorough job.

When I walk around the other side of the castle and call my name through the door, I’m puzzled to see Samn standing on the other side. Door guarding is a duty usually given to ladies with children because it’s low-effort and they can be replaced easily if they have to stop their kid from blowing things up or something—why is a capable knight doing it?

Her stony look tells me she’s got plenty to say about it too, but she just tells me through gritted teeth, “Take it to the kitchens and then get some lunch. Graie’s waiting for you and I’m going to find someone to replace me so I can take a break too.”

The unspoken _or else_ in her eyes makes me stifle a smile and just nod in agreement. Despite the humour in her reaction, my thoughts are still fixed to wondering why someone put her on door guarding as I unload the food and add the meagre pickings to the cupboards. Although I don’t _really_ need to wonder. I know why.

As much as I wish it was otherwise, I know people at court have started treating Samn differently. The queen obviously knew all along, so nothing’s changed much explicitly, but Sir Cawle doesn’t seem to share the same ideas as the queen. Samn hasn’t been chosen to lead a patrol yet, and when we patrol together, I can’t miss the snide comments and glances. Even Sir Strommer is acting like he’s tiptoeing around her—it’s better than the outright hostility that some have started to display, but I’m uncomfortable and I know it’s only worse for Samn.

All the same, I fetch myself a bowl of soup from the pot on the stove, careful not to disturb Lady Tiall as she rolls dough on the counter next to me with ferocious intent. Graie’s waiting for me in the dining hall and I swear, I’m almost in tears when he glances my way and smiles. _I have a best friend again._

Trying not to rush over and tackle him, I set down my bowl and slide on the bench across from him. He smirks and I frown. “What are you smiling about?”

“Just noticing that you’re sitting across from me.”

I blink. “I always sit across from you.”

He doesn’t answer, just gives me a pointed look when Samn comes into the dining hall with her own bowl of soup and steps over the bench to take a seat next to me. I scowl at him.

“I missed something,” Samn comments.

“No, I think I did,” Graie answers, and to my relief, the teasing smile drops from his face. “It’s good to be back.”

“Good to have you back,” I say, pushing back against the emotion in my throat that threatens to choke me up.

“Don’t cry into your soup, it’s too salty as it is,” Samn grumbles and I elbow her. “Hey! Agh, speaking of salty, Sir Cawle put me on door guarding like I’m fuckin’ pregnant or something.”

“Are you?” Graie grins.

“I will dump this bowl of soup over your head, Sir Sterrip,” Samn answers. “I can’t _believe_ him. Everyone’s been weird around me since—uh, since the ceremony, but besides the queen, he’s the only one who can really change things for me. And it looks like he’s trying to.”

“We have to get rid of him,” I say, a heavy certainty settling in my stomach.

Samn gives me a wry look. “I don’t think his outdated ideas of women are the main reason, but I agree.”

_That’s not what—_ I sigh. “Yeah.”

Graie’s spoon scrapes against the bowl as he scoops out the last of the broth. “So what are we gonna do about it?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what we _can_ do. The queen’ll probably take his word over ours and we don’t have any proof, right now, except for Ravne.”

Samn frowns. “But maybe if we _explain_ …”

Graie lowers his voice and leans toward us a bit as Lady Peilte and Sir Strommer come into the hall for lunch as well. “If she wants to believe that he’s good hard enough, I don’t think we’ll be able to change her mind, no matter what we say. People are stubborn, and—no offense, Fiyr—she’s probably going to have the same reaction you did. It’s scary and it’s easier to ignore it than try to reckon with reality.”

At least Samn isn’t shouting at me about it; she just looked worried. “I think you’re right. What do we do, then?”

Something I said earlier is still sticking in my head, though, and the beginning of a plan blooms in my head. “If we don’t have any proof, couldn’t we try to get some?”

Graie cocks his head. “How? The battle was years and years ago.”

“But _Ravne_ was there,” I say, the idea forming as I speak. “Can’t we ask him what happened? If we can paint a clearer picture about what happened that night—”

I’m interrupted as Samn suddenly bursts out in a harsh whisper, “Blessed Starlaxi, I don’t think Sir Cawle killed the Rivien captain of the guard.”

I turn to her. “What? But… I thought your father killed him, then.”

Samn shakes her head. “I never really believed that; he adhered to the knight’s code like it was everything, there’s no way he would’ve killed another knight. From what I’ve heard, Oeak Hahrte was noble as well and I really doubt that it could have been life or death. My father didn’t kill Sir Hahrte, but I don’t see how Sir Cawle could’ve either. Everyone would’ve seen him and if Sir Hahrte didn’t kill my father, Sir Cawle would have been punished for killing another knight unprovoked.”

I blink, absorbing it. Graie seems similarly confused. Samn sighs.

“Listen, after the battle, Sir Cawle killed my father.” There’s no waver of emotion in her voice and her eyes are hard. “Sometime before that, the captain of the Rivien guard died. _How_ is what I want to know. It couldn’t have been my father because he wouldn’t kill another knight and it couldn’t have been Sir Cawle because he would have been in trouble for killing another knight, although I have no doubt he’s capable of it. So _how_ did Oeak Hahrte die?”

Graie shrugs. “Random heart attack. Does it matter?”

“Queen Bluelianna’s gonna come to the same conclusion I did.” Samn’s eyes are dark with conviction. “She wouldn’t believe a bad word about my father either, so we need an explanation, and I think Ravne can give it to us.”

Graie nods, then tilts his head. “How are we going to get to him, though? We can’t very well pack up and disappear for two days.”

“The Gathering’s in two days,” I exclaim.

Samn looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“No, listen, the solstice pavilion is half way to Knave’s Moor, we can sneak out after—or even during—and ride to Barrleigh’s. Then we’ll just ask Ravne what happened,” I say.

Graie shrugs. “That’s a pretty good plan.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I respond, wagging my spoon at him.

“Alright, I like it. We’ll do it,” Samn decides. “I’ll talk to the queen to let her know we want to go to the Gathering.”

We nod and she grabs her bowl and heads back to the kitchen.

“I’m glad we finally have a plan,” I sigh. “This was all stressing me—what?”

Graie is grinning at me. A blush creeps up my neck and I have a feeling I know what he’s on about.

“Guess I really did miss something,” he comments, feigning nonchalance. I scowl at him. “Couple years ago, you two were at each other’s necks. I feel like it won’t be long now before you are again, although this time—”

“Shut up.” I’m steaming red and I grab our bowls, stacking them with a clatter. “I’ll take your dishes.”

“You’re a gift,” he singsongs and I hurry out before I throw them at him instead.

…

Being allowed to go to the Gathering turns out to be the easy part. It’s not until we’re riding through the darkening forest that I truly come to appreciate just how far the solstice pavilion is. If I estimate that the distance from it to Knave’s Moor is about the same as from the pavilion to the Thundrian castle, Samn, Graie, and I aren’t going to be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest, and that’s if we don’t stay overnight at the barn and only stay for an hour.

I’m already getting tired and the prospect of not sleeping until tomorrow makes my heart sink, but I know our mission is more important.

This isn’t the first Gathering after the battle but I’m uncomfortable watching the Shodawes and Riviens filter onto the pavilion. I don’t trust Shodawa not to try something after King Naitienne’s half-hearted declaration that he only wanted to prove Shodawa’s strength and return to an era of battles that didn’t cause grudges to linger for more than a year at most. _In other words, ‘I made a miscalculation and I don’t want to be punished’,_ I think.

King Naitienne makes his announcement without much fanfare and Wynnd and Thundria don’t bother cheering for the new knights and squires. He seems to want the focus off him as much as we do, and so he doesn’t comment on the stony silence of half the kingdoms and just draws back from the platform.

“Thundria will go next,” the queen declares without a look at Naitienne.

Something occurs to me as she begins. _Is she going to ever tell the other kingdoms that we’re harboring Braukkin as a prisoner? Would it be better if they found out from us or should we just try to stop them from ever finding out?_

I hold my breath as she continues, but she only makes a perfunctory remark about Thundria keeping up strength despite the winter and dips her head, finishing.

_I suppose that’s my answer, then._ I can’t help running my hands through my hair nervously, the gloves catching on the strands and tugging. _Will they find out? I don’t see how they could, unless a Thundrian let it slip._ No one would be stupid enough to do that, surely? Unless Sewif or Brakken doesn’t realize the gravity of the secret and mentions it in passing. The idea makes me worry, but I’m sure their mentors will tell them not to. _But Graie is Brakken’s mentor and he’s…_ I resolve to ask Graie if he’s made sure Brakken knows not to tell anyone from another kingdom.

The kings of Wynnd and Rivier proceed with their announcements too. Nothing out of the ordinary—a new squire here, a dead elder there. I have a hard time not glancing at Graie and Samn throughout the announcement. We’re all standing together in the centre of Thundria and though it’s tempting, I don’t bother breaking away from them to go say hi to Owen or Georse. We’re leaving soon.

And sure enough, when the monarchs descend from the platform, Samn gives us a nod. We shuffle through the crowd of Thundria, having already positioned ourselves near the edge of the pavilion to make it easier, and slip into the shadows. The sparks crackling up and down the pillar of Thundria and the moon are the only sources of light as we leave the stone of the pavilion and walk across the grass to where the trees start. I find Blitz without too much trouble and we all mount quickly, not risking a word.

We’ve disappeared from the Thundrian forests by the time the rest of the court heads that way. Graie mapped out our course yesterday and he takes the lead now, guiding us along the border between Wynnd and Rivier. The water is lapping on the beach, barely visible in the moonlight, and the sound of it covers our horses’ steps well.

Eventually, we nudge our horses into a faster pace and before long, the stars are a blur overhead as we gallop across the beach. I can see the silver peaks off to the right, across Wynnd’s territory.

I don’t know how long it is before we reach the end of the border, but I’m breathing hard from the exertion of hanging on to Blitz as she gallops, sand and dirt kicked up behind us. The moon has moved as well; it was an hour or two before midnight when we left, and now the moon has passed the middle of the sky.

“Let’s take a break!” Graie whisper-shouts back to us, pulling Quicksilver’s reins to stop her.

We walk on foot along the outer border of Wynnd for a bit and I can feel Blitz’s hot breath on my hand as I lead her. _I should’ve said we had to stop earlier._ We had slowed to a trot at times to allow the horses respite, but it wasn’t enough, obviously.

I hesitate for a moment, look up at the moon and try to guess how much time has gone by since we left the Gathering. _It’s probably only a few hours after midnight._

“Guys! I see the barn!” Graie is calling to us again.

I see him and Quicksilver, silhouettes in the moonlight, as they move further from Wynnder territory and toward a large building with a rounded roof. _The barn._ I sigh in relief. I think Blitz does too.

Samn and I take the horses into the barn while Graie heads to the attached house to speak with Ravne and Barrleigh. I wince as I hear him knocking louder and louder. _They’re asleep. Ravne used to be such a light sleeper, what happened?_

By the time someone comes to the door to find out what the racket is, Samn and I have put the horses in the barn and come around to help Graie beat down their door.

We come face to face with a very asleep-looking Barrleigh.

“Hi—um, can we talk to Ravne?” Graie peeps.

Barrleigh’s eyes slowly begin to open and he blinks, staring at us. “S’fuckin’ cold, c’min,” he mumbles, pulling the door wider open.

Graie enters and after sharing an awkward glance, Samn and I follow suit. Barrleigh, who I now can see is wearing the most rumpled pair of sleep-clothes I’ve ever seen, shuts the door quickly behind us. We pull off our boots as he stumbles back into the house and turns into one of the rooms off the main hallway. As I’m enveloped in the house’s warmth, I finally realize just how tired I am and yawn.

I glance around his house, curious what an outlander’s life is like. It looks mostly like what little I’ve seen of villagers’ houses; a doorway to the left leading to a living room complete with worn sitting chairs and a coffee table where an abandoned mug of tea sits; a hallway with a couple more doorway leading off to probably-bedrooms or bathrooms; a kitchen area at the end of that hallway with a rack full of clean dishes, barely visible in the moonlight that filters in through the window above the sink.

Barrleigh returns from the room and crashes into the small table across from the door. A picture falls down on it and he rights it with a guilty smile and a muttered apology.

“Ravne’s gettin’ up,” he announces to us. “Give ‘im a min. You wan’ some tea? Mint.”

“We shouldn’t…” Samn mutters, but Graie cuts her off.

“We’re going to have to hang around for a little while anyway.” He raises his voice and addresses Barrleigh. “Sure, tea would be great.”

Barrleigh nods and shambles into the kitchen. A few moments later, Ravne emerges from the room—bedroom, I’m guessing—rubbing his eyes and blinking hard. He’s got a candle and when his eyes meet ours—or rather, Graie’s first—he nearly drops it.

“What on—you’re here!” He snaps awake, carefully sets the candle down on the same table that Barrleigh nearly fell on, and rushes over to the entryway to hug each of us.

As he attacks me third, I have a hard time not noticing how much taller and stronger he’s obviously gotten. It didn’t feel that long ago that we were training together, but I suppose it’s been… almost four years now. I blink.

“Good to see you,” I wheeze as he finally releases me, his eyes sparkling in the dim light.

“Come on, come on, sit down! You must have so much to tell me!”

Graie glances at us hesitantly, then back at Ravne and says, “Actually, we were hoping you might be able to tell us…”

Ravne pays no mind and lights the larger candles bolted to the wall of the hallway, the soft glow spreading into the kitchen where I see Barrleigh shuffling around. When Ravne’s finished lighting the candle, he waves us into the kitchen, looking delighted every time he remembers we’re here.

We follow him into the kitchens, which he begins to light up as well, and sit at the small table to the left of the doorway.

“Sit! Sit! You made tea?” Ravne looks to Barrleigh.

He sighs. “Where’d you leave your mug this time?”

“Living room, I think.” Ravne gives him an innocent smile and with a muffled grumble, Barrleigh shambles off again to retrieve the mug. “Now tell me everything that’s happened at court since I was gone!”

We exchange glances.

“We snuck away from the Gathering,” Graie starts hesitantly. “I dunno how long we can stay.”

Ravne’s face falls. “Oh. Right. Why _did_ you sneak away?”

Samn steps in. “It’s… it’s about Sir Cawle.”

He sombers. “Yes. Right. What do you need from me?”

“I know what you told me about what happened at the battle for the village of the Sun Rocks, but the only part I don’t understand is—” Samn breaks off as Barrleigh comes back into the kitchen, looking more awake than before.

She meets Barrleigh’s eyes evenly and doesn’t start again. I fight the urge to swat her arm. _Why does it matter what Barrleigh hears? He’s not the one we’re worried about. This farmer we’ve only ever had good relations with is not going to betray us to a man he hardly knows._

“Am I interruptin’ something?” Barrleigh looks from her to Ravne, then passes him his mug of cold tea.

“Not at all,” Samn replies and this time I do flick her arm.

“Samn—” I shake my head. “C’mon, it’s Barrleigh. What’s the worst he can do?”

Samn gives me a look, then relents. “Right. Sorry. Uh. Carry on, Ravne.”

Barrleigh shrugs. “I mean, I can go back to bed.”

“I don’t mind if you stay, but I know…” Ravne nods at him and Barrleigh gives him a half-smile in return. “I’ll—I mean—when we’re—er, goodnight.”

The three of us exchange puzzled glances but Barrleigh only laughs and heads back into the hallway, then disappears into the room.

“Well,” Samn announces into silence, and then starts again. “You were saying, about the battle?”

Ravne gulps and clears his throat. “Right. Um, so like I told you…”

And he launches into a retelling. According to Ravne, after Sir Tayle called for the retreat, the Rivien captain attacked him again and they moved deeper into the cavern next to the village as they fought. Sir Cawle told Ravne to go back to the court and that he’d wait for Sir Tayle when he came out, but Ravne wanted to see the battle between the two captains so he hid behind one of the clusters of stalagmites and waited for them to go back.

“But they didn’t come out,” Ravne continues, his voice softening. He looks down, into the surface of his tea. “I just heard—heard an awful, awful noise, like the earth was moving, and then Sir Tayle ran out of the tunnel—and then Sir Cawle was on him, like—like a cat pouncing.”

“And Sir Hahrte never came back out,” Graie guesses.  
Ravne nods. “No. Sir Tayle—he said something about—” Ravne winces at the memory “—something about a cave-in.”

_Oeak Hahrte wasn’t killed by anyone, then? It was a cave-in?_ It sounds like when Graie suggested heart attack, he wasn’t far off. _That’s terribly unlucky._

“And then—” Ravne swallows hard. “You know the rest.”

He raises his mug with a trembling hand and sips his tea, eyes pinned to the table as the rest of us begin to grapple with the implications of what we’ve just learned.

“My father didn’t—” Samn exclaims.

“We _knew_ he didn’t, but a _cave-in?_ ” Graie repeats skeptically. “That seems unlikely.”

“Haven’t you been in those caves?” Samn answers, shaking her head. “They’re incredibly crumbly. I’m surprised it took this long for someone to die. It makes sense. And then Sir Cawle killed my father and returned to Thundria with a lie about how Sir Hahrte was killed in the falling rocks.”

Something’s not coming together for me, and after a moment, I put my finger on it. “But why did Rivier go along with the story about Oeak being killed by Sir Cawle?”

Ravne shrugs. “Maybe they didn’t know about the cave-in and just accepted what Thundria told them.”

I frown. “Wouldn’t they want to recover his body for the funeral?”

“Maybe,” Samn answers. “But if they _did_ know about the cave-in, they might’ve wanted to cover it up all the same. Better to go out fighting than killed by a stroke of bad luck. When people die like that, it feels better to try to make their death mean something.”

I fall silent as she says the last part softly.

_Is that what this crusade against Sir Cawle is about? Bringing meaning to her father’s death?_ But I don’t think that’s entirely true. _I think his end goal is to depose the queen. And Cindra getting injured might have been a byproduct of that, like Prin suggested._

After a moment, Ravne sips his tea again and says, “I don’t know if it really matters, but I remember another odd thing that happened that night.”

Our attention immediately captured, he laughs awkwardly and tells us, “I don’t think it’s related. But still, I remember it because it was so strange. I was fighting this young knight, Stowen—Stowen Feur, I think—and the captain of the guard, that is, Oeak Hahrte, sort of interrupted our fight and told me to find another target because…” He tilts his eyes up, remembering. “Because apparently ‘no Thundrian could harm him’. I have no idea what he meant, but it was Oeak and it’s about Thundria… so?”

He looks to us. I shake my head and I see my own confusion reflected in Samn and Graie’s faces.

“Eh. Maybe it was nothing, then. If that’s all you want to know?” He’s brightened up a bit and I’m happy to see it. “You don’t have to leave _right_ away, do you?”

Now _this_ is familiar from Ravne. He rounds his blue eyes like a puppy, hopeful, and even Samn is powerless to resist his face.

“Alright. Not too long, though,” she grumbles.

Ravne lets out what could best be described as a squeak of joy and he leans over the table to Graie. “Okay, tell me everything. Do you have squires? Samn, are you a knight yet, or what?”

“Lady Samn Schorme, at your service,” she answers, doing a little mock bow with her mug of tea in hand.

I turn to Ravne, waiting for someone else to be blindsided at last instead of me at her revelation, but he only claps. “You told everyone! And? Has Duss proposed Uniting yet?”

Samn snorts. “Not yet. I have to assume he’s working up the courage.”

“You _knew?_ ” I interrupt.

Ravne half-smiles. “Well…” He looks to Samn, who rolls her eyes.

“I told him… uh, in a fit of madness,” she says. “It had been a hard night, alright? I was just a bit out of it and I broke the news. He took it well and kept it a secret, so I don’t think it matters.”

“Any Unions?” Ravne asks. “Last one I saw was Sir Strommer and Lady Faise.”

I shake my head. “Nope. That generation is all past it and we’re next. I don’t think there’ll be one any time soon.”

Ravne sighs. “Graie? Have you found some poor soul to shower in flowers and bad poetry yet?”

Graie lets out a laugh that sounds slightly strangled to me. _Sila?_ “Sort of. But no, not really.”

He pats his arm. “You’ll find someone. As for you two—” Ravne points a finger at Samn and I.

“Uh-uh. Last time you brought this up, it was to deflect from you and Barrleigh, and look how that’s worked out,” Samn argues. “He was getting mad at you just for leaving a mug on his table.”

Ravne blinks. “Huh? No, he wasn’t. He was just teasing.” Brows drawing together in worry, Ravne looks to Graie and I for confirmation and we both nod slowly.

It’s Samn’s turn to blink, taken aback. “Oh—he was? I couldn’t tell.” She gives an awkward laugh and Ravne tries to join in but it’s stilted. “Sorry. Um. Didn’t mean to make you worry about it.”

Ravne shrugs and smiles. “I’m not, don’t worry—we’ve been together for two years and he’s always really straightforward if something I’m doing is bothering him.”

I nearly choke on my tea.

“You _what?!_ ”

Graie laughs again in that strangled way and Samn sets down her tea, disbelieving.

“Yeah, I came clean about how I felt after awhile and he felt the same, so there was really nothing in the way.” Ravne looks a little surprised at _our_ surprise. “I dunno if we can really Unite since we’re not at court, but whatever the outlander version of it is… uh, we are.”

Once I get over my initial surprise, I have to admit I saw this coming. When we first met Barrleigh, there was obviously something there—for Ravne at least, if not Barrleigh at that point—and then when he went to live with him, then again when Graie and I stopped there after bringing back Wynnd. It’s not that shocking that they would have gotten to the next step in the ensuing years.

“Congratulations,” Graie says. “I hope you’re happy together.”

“Very.” Ravne’s smile is wide enough to spread to our faces too and I’m warmed.

I’m starting to realize that he might not have been a naturally skittish or anxious person and that his behaviour was just a result of Sir Cawle’s torment. His stutter has almost disappeared completely.

“I’m afraid there’s not a lot of new gossip in the kingdoms,” I confess. “Some battles. The new king of Shodawa is getting too big for his boots.”

Ravne raises his eyebrows. “And they were such big boots to fill, too. I’m sorry to hear that. Nothing you couldn’t handle, though, I’m guessing?”

I smile, then think back to the battle and feel it drop from my face. “Yeah. Although…”

“What?”

“Just Sir Cawle stuff. He’ll be dealt with soon, thanks to you.”

Ravne nods and the conversation subsides. I watch as the flickering of the candles casts patterns across his face and wonder how much his life has changed. _Does he use his life-force anymore? Surely he doesn’t need it on the farm. He must know loads about farming; Barrleigh would probably teach him._ He doesn’t strike me as a good teacher. Barrleigh seems like the strangest mix between standoffish and friendly and I don’t think it would make for mentor material, but what do I know? I would have said the same thing about myself, and Brakken’s turning out fine.

_I think that’s his own doing, though._ I feel guilty that such a bright kid had to have this turbulent squiring and I can’t help still blaming Graie after what I said about trusting him to make his own decisions. _But that was about him seeing Sila, not about neglecting his duties as a knight of Thundria. If he wants to have both, that’s up to him, but he has a duty to Brakken and I should make sure he’s not slipping up again in the future._

“It’s getting late,” Samn comments. “Or early, I guess. If they haven’t already, the court is going to notice we’re gone soon.”

I blink and look out the window. Sure enough, the sky is lightening into a dim gray and the moon is most of the way to the horizon.

“We should head out,” Graie agrees.

“I can ride with you to the Wynnder border!” Ravne suggests and Graie gives him a tired smile.

“Sounds good.”

We leave the attached house and head to the barn to retrieve our horses. Ravne lags behind to poke his head into the bedroom—presumably to tell Barrleigh the plan, if the outlander isn’t already asleep—and then joins us.

The grass is wet on my boots as I lead Blitz out onto the moor. Ravne has retrieved an old draft horse that he mounts when we reach flat land and we set off, the four of us riding together. I’m reminded of the last time we were all together, riding like this; it was when we were bringing Ravne to the farm to help him escape Sir Cawle, all those years ago.

But this time, we’re not leaving Thundrian territory to flee his power.

We’re heading for it to put a stop to it.


	3. Chapter 2 - Fiyr

Chapter 2 - Fiyr

The sky is streaked in gray and yellow as we make our way back along the Wynnder-Rivien border. The waters are quiet tonight and as we ride along, I can make out the faint, misty outline of the billowing sails of the Rivien galleon. It makes me glance at Graie, but he’s still riding next to me with his gaze firmly ahead. I swallow a yawn and follow suit.

I can almost feel the bags forming under my eyes as we continue. When we were at Barrleigh’s, it wasn’t hard to stay awake because I was warm and talking, but now that the winter wind that blows off the Rivien sea gusts across us and I have nothing to hold my attention except the sway of Blitz underneath me, my eyes keep drifting closed. _I wish we could stop._

But we’ve already been missing for the whole night and if the queen didn’t notice we were gone when she got back from the Gathering last night, Sir Cawle’s going to be sending out patrols this morning and we won’t be on any of them.

Not to mention Brakken—he’ll be worried. Then again, I’m sure he’s gotten used to filling empty days with some kind of work when his mentor is missing. A pang of guilt makes me turn back toward Graie.

“Graie, I meant to ask,” I venture cautiously. Being friends again is already taking an enormous load off of me and I don’t want to ruin what we’ve so carefully rebuilt. “Have you been training with Brakken more?”

He purses his lips, but the reluctance only makes my resolve harden. _Even if it’s an uncomfortable question, I owe it to Brakken. We’re both tired—I just hope we don’t start snapping at each other._

“Trying,” he grunts. “I’ll take him out soon.”

_You’re supposed to train everyday,_ I think resentfully. _Even if you’re just sending him to the library to study the line of past kings or something. It’s what I would have done for Cindra if she hadn’t… Well, what’s done is done._ I should visit her. It’s been a while since we had a good talk and I’m sure she gets bored in the healer’s wing.

“Wynnd,” Samn hisses suddenly from her position at the head of our little patrol.

“Oh no,” Graie mutters and I nod, too tired to do much more.

Sure enough, over the crest of the hill appears a few forms on horseback, lit by the slowly rising sun. _Early morning Wynnder patrol._ I resist the urge to groan. _Just our luck._

“Think they’ve seen us?” Samn murmurs, slowing Dune to fall back to us so we can cluster together.

“If they hadn’t, I think they just did,” Graie answers and sure enough, the three figures on horseback descend the hill toward us and the border with Rivier. To my relief, it doesn’t look like they’re unsheathing their swords to come skewer us. _Do they think we’re Rivien?_ I don’t think Riviens patrol their borders on horseback, though, unless they’ve found some breed of water-horse. _Dolphins, maybe._

“Sir Harte? Sir Sterrip?” the incredulous exclamation comes from the man on the right, the sight of whom makes me let out a long sigh of relief.

“Sir Newskar.”

Samn twists the reins of Dune to face the three Wynnder knights and shoots me a disbelieving look. I shrug at her. It’s not really the best time to explain.

I shield my eyes against the sun with one hand and recognize the two others as Sir Futt, the captain of the Wynnder guard, and… another, skinnier man that makes me blink. He’s familiar to me, but I can’t place his name.

“Fiyr! It’s me, remember? You carried me when I was a little kid!” this stranger exclaims and my jaw almost drops.

“Georse?” Inspecting him, I realize that he’s not exactly a knight like I initially thought; he’s tall, certainly, and mostly shaped like a man, but there’s a gangly movement to his limbs that makes me think he’s still growing into them and his face is still boyish. “Blessed Starlaxi, you’re huge! I wouldn’t want to try carrying you now!”

“Fiyr,” Samn mutters under her breath.

“Sorry, I just—Graie and I met them when we went to bring back Wynnd, ‘member?” I’m revived now that there’s someone to talk to again, but we can’t really waste time here. I just hope our old camaraderie will carry over into excusing us for sort-of being on their territory.

“Sir Harte, Sir Sterrip, and…” Daede Futt’s gaze roves over us, neither hostile nor friendly. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

A muscle in Samn’s jaw twitches. “Lady Schorme.”

“Right. Er, why are you all here? Do you need audience with the king?” Sir Futt tilts his head, nothing but innocent inquisitiveness in his eyes, but I’m a little uncomfortable.

_I suppose if any of them were going to stick to stiff formality, it would be the captain of the guard,_ I reflect, and clear my throat. “No, we were just on our way back from a mission.”

“Does this count as on our territory?” Sir Newskar asks, deferring to Sir Futt with a glance. “The trace marking’s not exactly painted onto the grass.”

The captain of the guard shrugs. “I wouldn’t say so, but they’re not exactly on Rivien territory either.”

“Come on, it’s Fiyr and Graie—” Georse begins, but Owen shoots him a look and he shuts his mouth with a guilty smile. “Right. Sorry.”

Sir Futt, though, seems inclined to agree and even though it makes me uncomfortable to leverage our sort-of friendship to get away with something, I’m also too tired to care much.

“Right. Well, consider it payback for coming to save us. Twice,” he agrees, giving us a smile that’s at least marginally more familiar than the last.

Samn seems uncomfortable, though, as she says, “Er. Right. Well, we’ll be leaving now.”

Georse waves to me as we set off again after Graie thanks the captain for his charity. I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but Samn’s movements seem more stiff after the encounter. _I wonder what that’s about?_

“Samn? Alright?” I call up to her as she takes the lead once more.

“I’m fine,” she answers without turning back.

I shrug. _Well, she’ll tell us if there’s a problem. I hope._ I’m too tired to focus on much beside my aching legs and the urge to lie on Blitz’s mane and drift off to sleep.

…

As Graie, Samn, and I sneak back into the main doors of the castle, I spot Sir Cawle speaking with the queen next to the throne and send a quick prayer to the Starlaxi that he doesn’t notice us as we come in. It’s a longshot though, because the only other people in the throne room are Brindellia with Faern and Clowd. _No one’s on door-guarding,_ I notice.

Sure enough, the moment our boots click on the stone, Sir Cawle’s head turns to look. I cringe.

“Sir Harte, Sir Sterrip, and Lady Schorme.” He curls his lip as he strides over to us.

“Good morning, sir,” Samn says, stifling a yawn.

“Where in the name of the _Starlaxi_ have you been?” he snaps. “The patrols were organized an hour ago.”

Of course, it’s only _now_ that I realize we definitely should have come up with a cover story on the ride back. Graie and I look at each other, lost, but Samn’s already got a lie on her tongue. Or rather not, because without missing a beat she answers,

“Stopping by at Barrleigh’s.”

Sir Cawle blinks. “What?”

“Yes, Sir Sterrip wants to take Brakken to the Lunar Temple sometime soon and we figured we’d go find a good route after what happened to Wynnd; we wouldn’t want to cross their territory directly with tensions the way they are,” Samn continues.

It’s not a perfect lie, since the tensions between the kingdoms are nonexistent between Thundria and Wynnd; in fact, I’d venture to say they’re better than they’ve been in a long time, but Sir Cawle is thrown for a loop by how easily she answered and doesn’t seem to recognize the flaws.

“I—I see. Well, you’d better tell this all to the queen,” he grunts.

_Better her than you,_ I think, grateful to Samn for the quick-thinking.

He waves us toward her, then crosses the throne room to the other side and ducks into the nursery. The queen waits by the healer’s wing with a deceptively nonchalant look in her eyes.

“Well,” she begins. “I suppose there’s an explanation.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Samn answers and repeats the lie about the Lunar Temple.

The queen tilts her head. “And you did not think to ask permission? Or indeed inform me of your intentions?”

Samn glances at us, apparently out of quick lies. Taking a gamble, I tell her, “It was a spur of the moment thing. We realized how close the solstice pavilion is compared to the castle and decided it was better to go now rather than wait until next solstice.”

The queen blinks, her gaze revealing nothing about how sympathetic she is to our cause. “I see. Well, an honourable mission but a better effort should have been made to plan ahead and apprise us of your intent. We cannot have knights running off, across other kingdoms’ territory no less.”

“We stayed on the border,” Samn protests.

The queen’s brow raises. “I imagine Wynnd would rather be the judge of that. Did you encounter a patrol, by any chance?”

Graie blurts ‘no’ at the same time as I say ‘yes’.

Queen Bluelianna’s eyes flick from my face to his and she cocks her head. “Well, which one is it?”

“We _saw_ a patrol,” I tell her quickly before Graie can make things more muddied. “But they didn’t see us. We didn’t talk to them. I think the captain was on it though, so if he found our traces, I’m sure he’d let it slide.”

The queen nods. “It’s possible, though I don’t want to leave the situation the way it is. I’ll let the next patrols that go by the solstice pavilion know the situation so they can clear it up should they be challenged.”

I guess we just have to hope that Sir Newskar, Sir Futt, and Georse aren’t on that patrol, or else they might reveal that we spoke to them after all. _But I think this is the best we can hope for._

Samn thanks the queen and Graie and I do the same, then Queen Bluelianna adds, “And I hope to see you all hunting today. Winter isn’t over yet and we need all that we can get. First, go get some rest. You all look like you’ve been up all night.”

_Which we have,_ I think, but bow to her. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

I hurry up to the knights’ wing, somehow feeling more awake now that I can go dive into my bed. _Samn, Graie, and I need to talk about what our next move is,_ I think, but it’s hard to focus on much beside my bed as I shut the door of my room behind me.

Dropping my uniform in the basket of used clothes, I quickly tug on my sleep-clothes and use my life-force to extinguish the torch in my room. It’s a bit drafty, but I hardly notice as I pull the covers over my shoulder and turn onto my side.

I’m asleep in less than a minute.

…

_He’s in my dream again._

_“Sir Tayle!” I exclaim. The wind blusters around me; we’re standing out on the open moor this time and he faces away from me, his uniform flagging on his body as the wind grasps at it._

_He turns. His expression is one of resigned worry, like he knows something bad is going to happen and there’s nothing he can do._

_“Fiyr. I’m sorry I missed Samn’s knighting ceremony, but I’m glad to see you two doing well.” He smiles in an achingly sad way at the mention of his daughter. “These next months will be turbulent for her, but I know you’ll support her through it.”_

_“Of course,” I say, though I’m a little confused as to why he’d come down from the Starlaxi to tell me that. “What’s wrong?”_

_He shakes his head. “There are limits to the Starlaxi’s ability to see the future, Fiyr, remember that when you hear something from them—us—that sounds too dark to take. A prophecy can come true in a way that none of us foresee. Nothing is set in stone until it has happened.”_

_Worry climbs up my back at the tone of this preamble._ If he’s reassuring me that things the Starlaxi tells me or anyone aren’t necessarily as bad as they sound, how bad is it? _“What? What have you heard?”_

_“El agua apaga el fuego,” he whispers, eyes flashing with starlight and meaning beyond my ken. “Remember that, Fiyr.”_

_“What? I can’t—” I guess I should have paid more attention when Sir Cawle taught me the basics of Old Thundria. “Can you translate it?”_

_He just watches me, shaking his head gently and looking worried. Then the grass beneath me transforms into water and I plunge into it._

…

It’s not until the next morning that I get a chance to head to the nursery to find the book they use to teach children Old Thundrian. I’ve been repeating the words in my head ever since I woke up, panicked at the thought of forgetting them. I even wrote them down, as best I could, although I’m fairly sure ‘ _El agwa apagga el fweggo’_ isn’t the right spelling for most of those words. I recognize some of the sentence structure, at the very least; Sir Tayle said that ‘something is going to do something to something else’. Those ‘somethings’ seems kind of important to the overall meaning, though.

“Morning, Lady Faise,” I say as she waves to me from where she’s sitting with Faern and Clowd. They’re playing some kind of card game that Faern appears to be winning based on her triumphant exclamations.

“Morning, Sir Harte. Something I can help you with?” she asks, putting down her hand of cards.

“I’m just looking for the book of Old Thundrian basics,” I respond, eyes drifting to the bookshelf where the books for children are all organized.

“Of course, second shelf from the top,” she says, picking back up her cards as Faern informs her that it’s her turn.

I find the book quickly enough and pull it down, flipping through it. It’s mostly words with illustrations but there’s a smaller section at the back with a list of translations, alphabetized. _‘Agwa’_ isn’t a word, but _‘agua’_ is and it translates to water. _‘Apagga’_ , or _‘apaga’_ means to turn off or put out, and _‘fweggo’_ ( _‘fuego’_ ) is fire.

_Water puts out fire? But why is Sir Tayle telling me that?_ I wonder. It does make his warning about not taking the things the Starlaxi passes on too hard make sense; if it’s a message about fire being destroyed by something, it’s probably not good news for me. _Does it mean Rivier by ‘water’? That Rivier’s going to kill me?_ I don’t see why; their quibble would be with Graie because of Sir Calew and Silaverre. _Or maybe it’s not about killing me. Maybe it’s like… water’s going to stop me from doing something. Or maybe since I use my fire in battle a lot, she means I won’t need to use it against Rivier, because it’ll be ‘put out’? Maybe the ‘fire’ part of it isn’t even about me at all._

It seems unlikely, but after what Sir Tayle said about not jumping to conclusions, it’s possible, right?

“Fiyr? What are you doing here?”

Samn’s voice makes me snap out of my reverie and I close the book quickly and shove it back onto the shelf. _I don’t want to worry her, especially not after Sir Tayle warned me against being too sure about the meaning._ Her expression holds a hint of the concern I saw on her father’s face in the dream, so exactly similar that I feel a tug of sadness that he never saw her grow up.

“Er, nothing. What’s going on? Are we going on patrol?”

She raises an eyebrow and then nods. “Yeah. Graie’s taking Brakken hunting and we’re tagging along.”

I nod, eager to leave the nursery and forget about the weird warning, though Samn doesn’t seem as willing to drop it.

“What were you looking at, by the way?”

“Uh—” I stammer. “Nothing really. Just brushing up on my Old Thundrian for winter.”

Samn blinks. “Right. Well, get your over-clothes and let’s hit the road. Graie and Brakken are waiting at the base of the trees.”

I hurry to the main room of the knights’ wing where Sir Strommer, Lady Peilte, and Sir Teyl are sitting and chatting. The former gives me a little salute as I rummage through the armoire for a coat my size. I pull it on as I leave, hurry down the stairs, and leave the castle.

Just as Samn said, they’re waiting at the base of the tree as I descend through the patch on Blitz’s back. Brakken looks excited to be out again, although his nose is already red from the cold.

“Figured we could go hunt on the Rivien side,” Graie announces and I shoot him a look, but he ignores me. “If you catch the trace of something you want to hunt on the way there, though, go for it.”

The last part is directed at Brakken, but I know it goes for all of us; we can’t afford to waste any chance at food right now.

We set off, the snow laying all around the path we’re taking muffling the sound of our mounts’ hoofbeats. I feel a little warmer seeing Graie talking to Brakken, even though the squire seems a bit hesitant at first to act like they’re suddenly super close again. The ice between them melts as we head to the Rivien border.

The good fortune isn’t universal, though; Samn and I are mostly silent, focused on the Trace, but it doesn’t help. We make it to the edge of the Rivien sea without catching the trace of any animal we can hunt.

“We’ll try further this way.” Graie nods toward where the cliff becomes more and more steep. It’s in the direction of the outer border, away from the village of the Sun Rocks. “You guys go that way.”

Samn and I agree and turn, heading toward the village and the solstice pavilion. We ride away in silence and when we lose sight of Brakken and Graie, Samn turns to me a pensive look.

“What’s our next move?”

“Huh?” I blink. “Hunting?”

She gives me a look. “No, you _dolt_ , I meant what’s our next move in taking down Tigre? We know that Oeak was killed by rocks, now. What are we doing with that information?”

I shrug. “Didn’t think that far. We tell the queen?”

“Is it gonna be enough to convince her?” Samn presses.

“I don’t know. What else can we do?”

Samn looks out at the Rivien sea, thinking, then turns back to me. I’m not sure I like the look in her eye.

“What if we went to talk to Rivier?”

_What?!_ “Why would we—what?! We can’t just invade Rivier asking questions about our captain of the guard,” I say.

Samn shakes her head. “What if we asked them about _their_ captain of the guard?”

“Leoparra?”

“ _Oeak Hahrte_ ,” she says, sounding a moment away from calling me a dolt again. “We can ask them if Oeak really was killed in a cave-in.”

“What if they don’t know?” I ask.

“Then it would be a waste of time, but at least we’ll know!” she exclaims. “And we can ask them about the other thing Ravne said.”

I’d forgotten about it until she just mentioned it. _No Thundrian knight shall harm him._ “Who was Oeak talking about when he said it? I can’t remember.”

“Sir Something. Feur,” Samn adds, scratching her head. “Whatever. I’m sure a Rivien will know what he meant. How are we going to contact them, though? Won’t they just think we’re trying to spy for Thundria?”

_Not if Graie does it,_ I think. “Maybe if we tell them it’s a diplomatic mission or something?”

Samn frowns. “We’re knights, though. Wouldn’t a healer at least be _part_ of it?”

I snort. “There’s no way we’ll convince Yllowei to do it, though.”

“What about Cindra?” Samn proposes.

“She’s not a healer,” I argue.

Samn waves her hand. “Practically a novitiate, and Rivier doesn’t need to know that. We wouldn’t bring someone who can’t fight if we were planning on invading and no one would bring a kid with a limp if they were trying to spy, either. I don’t know if anyone’s tried to spy through sympathy.”

I nod, still uneasy at the suggestion though. “We’d still be bringing her into hostile territory, though, and like you say, she’d have trouble in a fight.”

Samn hesitates, chewing on her lip. “You’re right. Why don’t we try to send a message to someone in Rivier and have them meet us in the village of the Sun Rocks, neutral ground? You don’t happen to have old friends there _too_ do you?”

I can’t miss the edge to her voice, but I ignore it all the same. “No, but Graie has—a connection.”

She waits for me to elaborate. I don’t.

“Right. Well, if he can tell this ‘connection’ to meet us in… say, three days, in Sun Rocks, then maybe we can get this investigation underway,” Samn grunts. “In the meantime, let’s hunt.”

It takes a while before we even catch the trace of anything, and when we do, it’s just one jackrabbit. Still, we carefully flank it and Samn finishes it off with her hunting knife, then straps it to Dune. I look up at the sky and try to make out the sun through the clouds and snow.

“I think we should head back,” I say, shielding my eyes from the snowflakes as I search the sky.

“With so little?” Samn gives her bloody knife a disappointed look like it’s its fault it hasn’t been stuck in more edible animals.

I shrug. “Lady Tiall makes good rabbit stew. Besides, we’re not going to find anything else if there’s nothing else to find. Hopefully someone’s put out traps.”

Samn relents with a sigh. “You’re right. Let’s head back, then.”

We return to where we split off from Graie and Brakken, but when we check the Trace, they’ve evidently left without us.

“Great,” I sigh. “I’ll tell Graie when I get a chance.”

I just hope he hasn’t already gone to the village of the Sun Rocks—although I suppose we would have seen him since we were just over there. _Samn doesn’t know._ I feel guilty keeping it from her, but then again, it’s not my secret to tell. If Graie wants her to know, he’ll tell her himself. It’s none of my business.

Samn sets off with a brisk snap of Dune’s reins and I follow her. We trot through the forest and I’m suddenly hit with a surge of affection for her.

“Hey!” I call. She turns, raising an eyebrow. “I—I’m glad we’re not trying to kill each other anymore.”

She grins and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, me too. Enough’s trying to kill us without us doing it to each other.”

I want to say more, but not here or now. _Someday. When this is behind us._


	4. Chapter 3 - Cindra

Chapter 3 - Cindra

My least favourite herb is milkweed because everything it supposedly soothes can be cured three times faster with any other less gross plant, and moving the roots of the plant makes it die way too fast. Plus, the pods are weird.

If you’d asked me two years ago, I probably would have said thistle because it’s stupid-looking.

All this to say, I’ve learned a lot from Lady Fennen in the last few years. I’ve even thought about asking her to make me her novitiate, but I can’t really tell if she thinks I already am or not. If there’s someone to treat, she doesn’t seem anxious to bring me over and show me exactly what she’s doing, but on other days when there’s nothing better to do, she’ll show me a sketch of a mushroom or something and explain how to use it. She loves her mushrooms.

Half the time I’ve forgotten by the next day, but I’m picking up on things; sometimes Lady Fennen asks me to bring her something for a patient and I’ve already got it in my hand. Well, usually I’m reading or something and she has to swat me with a quill to just get me to listen. But sometimes I’m useful!

All _that_ to say, I think I’m gonna manage to go at least another week before my next breakdown about being a useless parasite on Thundria. _Ideally._ Lady Tayel called me a delight yesterday, and you know what? I _am_ a delight and Lady Fennen should be so lucky to have me as a novitiate.

“Cindra!”

Lady Fennen’s call snaps me out of the daydream and I jump to attention.

“Aah! What?”

“I said, do you want some stew?” This time it’s Fiyr asking and I realize he’s been standing next to her the whole time. “Spacing out?”

“Yes, and yes.” I make a grab for the bowl in his hands and he pulls it away with a grin.

“No, c’mon, where are your manners? Has living with Yllowei for so long made you as curmudgeonly as her?” he teases and I giggle.

“Yes! Grr, you—you, uh, should have brought it earlier!” I growl in my best impression of her. She lets out an exasperated sigh. “And it’s not hot enough! I like my food to be on fire so it will warm my cold heart!”

With that last comment, she swats me with the roll of wax paper in her hand and heads off to her desk, leaving Fiyr and sitting by the window.

“Well, Sir Harte, what a lovely stew. Did you make it yourself?” I ask, digging into it. Looks like rabbit.

“Nah, it’s Lady Tiall's. But I caught the rabbit!” He takes a seat beside me, looking happy to see me eating. Having him around is great for the ego; Fiyr looks ready to burst into cheers when I breathe without dying.

“Well, great job. You’ll be a knight in no time,” I answer, mouth full.

He frowns at me. “But I—oh, shush.”

I laugh again and his frown twitches into a smile.

“Did you just come to bring me food?”

He shrugs but I can tell there’s something more going on and I squint.

“What? What is it?”

Whatever it is, he’s obviously trying to hide it, but this is _Fiyr_ we’re talking about, so of course it’s painfully obvious that he’s got some secondary reason for coming to see me. Nonetheless, he blinks innocently. “No, no, nothing really.”

My eyes narrow further, but I shrug. “Alright. Let me tell you about inky cap mushrooms; Lady Fennen’s showing me how to make a paste that—”

“Does Sir Cawle ever act strangely around you?” he bursts out.

_There it is._ I chew my stew thoughtfully. _Does Sir Cawle act strangely around me… well, there was that time the other when he turned around in the hallway when he saw me coming and half-ran away._ “Yeah, sometimes. Not as strangely as you’re acting right now, though.”

Fiyr shifts on the chair beside me. “I’m not acting weird! But how does he act?”

I frown. “What are you talking about? What do you want to know?”

His hands fidget in his lap and he avoids my gaze as he shrugs at a hilariously bad attempt at being nonchalant. “Oh. No reason, really.”

I put my half-empty bowl in my lap and lean over to him, giving him a look. “Seriously. I’m not a baby anymore. What do you want to know about? And what does Sir Cawle have to do with anything?”

“Keep your voice down,” Fiyr exclaims.

I flick him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I—” Fiyr’s eyes dart from side to side. Lady Fennen is the only one in the healer’s wing other than us, but his eyes still linger on her. “Do you want to go out for a ride? Like, now?”

I glance down at my stew and use my spoon to scrape the biggest bite out I can, stuff it in my mouth, then reply thickly, “Yeah, sher.”

He makes a face and I grin at him, rabbit stew leaking out between my teeth. While he pretends to gag, I swallow hard and stand up, grabbing my cane.

“Let’s go on an adventure!”

Fiyr sighs.

…

“Nice—nice weather, isn’t it!” Fiyr stammers as I turn on him the second we’re at the base of the trees. He starts Blitz off at a trot, almost like he’s trying to get away from me, but Ashes and I catch up without any trouble.

“Alright, you’re going to tell me what’s going on now, right?! What couldn’t you tell me with Lady Fennen around?” I demand. _He’s keeping some kind of secret! He still thinks I’m a little kid, doesn’t he?_

“There’s—” He coughs. “Uh, just let me know if Sir Cawle says anything weird to you.”

_Alright, I’ll play this game._ “Like what?”

Fiyr blinks. “If he—like, if he apologizes, even though he hasn’t done anything wrong, for example.”

“Oh, of _course_ ,” I answer. “That should have been obvious! Certainly, I’ll make sure to let you know if this ever happens—” I lower my voice to imitate Sir Cawle’s, “— _hello Cindra, nice to see you, and by the way, sorry._ Sorry for what, Sir Cawle? _Nothing in particular, I just feel like being weird and cryptic today. Have you seen Sir Harte? We had plans to be weird and cryptic together_ —”

“Alright, enough,” he interrupts, shaking his head at me. “The Sir Cawle thing isn’t… uh, pressing. I actually wanted to ask you about something else.”

I blink, mind suddenly racing through the possibilities. _Couldn’t be about my training, that’s an open and shut deal. No knighthood for me. Is it about medicine? Is he secretly sick, and only I can help him? Maybe Graie or Samn is sick. Maybe he wants me to spy on Lady Fennen! For… for something! That would explain why—_

“We need you to come with us to the village of the Sun Rocks,” Fiyr says.

“Huh?” _So… none of those._ “Why? And who’s _we?_ ”

“Me, Samn, and Graie,” he answers. “And… it’s sort of… like a diplomatic mission. We’re going to talk to Riviens about something that happened. A long time ago.”

_What?!_ “Talk to Riviens?! That’s not allowed!”

Fiyr looks guilty but I barrel on, astonished.

“And the queen’s okay with this!?”

“She doesn’t know,” he admits, letting out a heavy sigh.

I pull Ashes to a halt, barely registering that we’ve gotten quite a ways from the castle. “Are you kidding me? You want me to come with you to Rivier to talk to Riviens and the queen doesn’t know?!”

“We’re just going to the village of the Sun Rocks,” he argues, but he looks uneasy. “Listen, we’re not doing anything against the code. And if everything goes properly at the meeting, I’m going to the queen straight after and telling her everything, okay? You have my word.”

Trying to brush off the trust he’s putting in me without getting flustered, I swallow. “Why am I coming, then? What’s the meeting about? ‘Something that happened a long time ago’—that’s awfully vague! What’s going on? Is this about the Sir Cawle thing?”

Fiyr shakes his head vehemently. “Listen, Cindra, I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t think it was vital to Thundria. You’re coming because we have to show the Riviens we’re not going to attack them. If we have a novitiate with us, they’re not gonna think we’re a threat. And the meeting—”

“Novitiate?” I frown. “I’m not a novitiate. Lady Fennen hasn’t said anything of the sort and I hardly know anything about medicine.”

Fiyr waves his hand impatiently. “They’re not going to be testing you. The Riviens don’t know who you are, but you’re wearing the clothing.” He motions at my healer’s garb. _Well, it we only have so many squire’s uniforms. And besides, I’m not wearing the novitiate apron—will they think I’m a full healer?_ “And besides, you’re… not someone that would be brought on an ambush group, alright?”

I flinch, stung. “Oh. Right. So it’s for sympathy points.”

“No, Cindra, we just want to show them we’re not a threat,” he pleads.

_So you bring the most pathetic person at court._ “Then what’s the meeting about? _Is_ it an ambush?”

“No—just let me explain.”

I fold my arms and he stops Blitz as well and turns to look me in the eye. Snow begins to fall around us as he continues.

“Something _bad_ might be going on,” he says. I give him a look and he half-laughs. “I know it sounds—I just don’t want to tell you anymore because you might already… it might already have gotten you hurt, and... I want to keep you safe.”

Ignoring the warmth that surges in my chest at his words, I say, “I’m not a kid, Fiyr. Sorry, _Sir Harte_. Just because I’m a squire—”

“It’s not about being a squire!” he interrupts, a glint of desperation in his eyes. “It’s about being _anyone!_ We could all be in danger! And I don’t want to make things any worse for you, okay? It’s not that I want to protect you because I think you’re fragile, I want to protect you because seeing you get hurt once almost destroyed—all of us!”

I blink. “And your idea of protecting me is dragging me into Rivien territory.”

“ _Neutral_ territory,” he corrects, brows drawing together worriedly. “We’re just going to be in the village of the Sun Rocks. And… if there was another option, I’d take it, but yeah, as insane as it sounds, this is the safest thing for you.”

I chew on my lip, then shrug. “Alright. When are we going?”

He’s taken aback at how quickly I caved. “Oh! Uh—tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Right. Is it just us?” I try to sound casual but it still comes out a bit squeaky. _Great._

Fiyr shakes his head and I let out a breath. “No, S—that is, Lady Schorme and Sir Sterrip are coming too.”

“Great.”

…

The next day, I wait until Lady Fennen has gone to the elders’ wing to deal with Samal’s latest complaint and then hurry over to the squires’ wing to pilfer over-clothes. There are only one set of healer’s over-clothes and Lady Fennen might notice them missing. Samn, Graie, and Fiyr are standing by the doors of the castle and ignoring the curious look that Lady Fyrra’s giving them as she guards the doors.

“Ready to go?” Lady Schorme asks as I reach them and I feel a little burst of excitement despite myself. Even though my head only reaches their shoulders, I feel like a proper knight of Thundria going out on a mission with my patrol. I try to savour the feeling before I remember that it’ll never be real.

“Yeah, let’s go,” I answer, shaking myself out of it and tightening my grip on my cane to remind myself of where and who I am. Even as I try to reckon with my own out-of-placeness in this group of knights, as we head to the stables and mount our horses, I’m hit with another wave of aching need to be part of this team. Especially with the pressure lifted off my leg; now I’m just another knight. _Lady Cindra, Sir Fiyr, Sir Graie, and Lady Samn._

Lady Schorme takes the lead and the three of us follow her down the patch of foliage that transports us to the forest floor, then continue into the snowy trees. The path that Fiyr and I took yesterday is barely visible under the snow, but the horses almost seem to know the route and I don’t need to guide Ashes much at all to keep her on track.

“So do I get to know anything else about this meeting, or are we still doing the cryptic thing?” I ask between breaths as Lady Schorme pushes forward faster until we’re nearing a gallop. The cold air scrapes my lungs and I fight a cough.

Before Fiyr can answer, Sir Sterrip cuts in with a searching glance directed at my ex-mentor.

“How much’d you tell her?”

“As much as she needs to know.” Fiyr’s tone makes me think there’s some kind of disagreement between them over this mission. _Did Sir Sterrip want me to come or not?_ “That there’s a danger to Thundria and going to Sun Rocks to talk to Riviens is the best way to try to resolve that danger.”

“But not _why!_ ” I put in, frowning at Fiyr. “I still don’t understand why you aren’t going to the queen about this.”

“Hear, hear,” Fiyr mutters, and this time it’s Lady Schorme who calls back from ahead of us.

“She’d need proof! That’s what we’re talking to the Riviens for,” she tells me from over her shoulder. “Soon as we know—er, soon as we know _what we need to know_ , we’re going straight to Queen Bluelianna and she’ll be the one to deal with... _it_.”

“What’s _it?_ ” The same frustration that I felt yesterday returns, but stronger this time because now it’s obvious they _all_ know something they don’t trust me with. I’m not a part of their group, I’m just a key they picked up along the way to unlock this particular door. Which makes me think that I’ll be discarded just as fast. I really thought I’d escaped feeling disposable after Lady Fennen started teaching me medicine stuff, but apparently not.

“I don’t see why we can’t tell her,” Lady Schorme announces and as much as she rubs me the wrong way, I’m grateful that at least one of them is in camp ‘be less of a cryptic butt about what’s going on’.

“I agree,” Sir Sterrip volunteers and Fiyr winces.

I round on him with a look. “What? _You_ were the only one trying to keep all this from me?”

“She’s not a child, Fiyr,” Samn cuts in. “And I trust her to keep the secret. Besides, another pair of eyes on this might help.”

It’s annoying to be talked about like I’m not there, but I nod vigorously. “I’m not! And I can!”

Fiyr hesitates, his freckly forehead crinkling with anxiety. “I know—I just don’t want… you already… um…”

He motions vaguely toward me but I’m already looking down at my leg. “What? What does that have to do with anything? That was a freak accident. Unless you mean it was the gods’ fault. But I don’t know what talking to a bunch of Riviens is going to—”

“No, Cindra, it wasn’t an accident.” His face is grave and my heart nearly stops.

“W—what? Yeah, it—” I stop, looking at the other two, but they seem just as surprised by Fiyr’s declaration as I am. “What are you talking about? No one—”

“Sir Cawle.” The name bursts out of Fiyr and he looks really distressed, but forges ahead. “Sir Cawle is planning a coup. We think.”

“A _what?!_ ” My head spins. Even that shock isn’t quite enough to distract me from what he said before that, though. _What does that have to do with my leg?!_

“Just listen.” Fiyr stops Blitz and Lady Schorme and Sir Sterrip follow suit with their own horses. I instinctively pull Ashes back a bit as they all guide their horses over the path to stand in front of me, united. “He…”

“Let me.” Lady Schorme stops Fiyr with a gloved hand on his arm and my chest tightens. “Sir Cawle killed my father, according to Ravne.”

“Sir… Sir Tayel? But he was captain of the guard!” I protest. “I thought he—”

“ _Listen_ ,” she interrupts sharply. “It’ll all make sense when you know everything. He killed my father in the battle for the village of the Sun Rocks with Rivier. After the Rivien knights fled, he murdered him and then lied to the court. He tried to turn the court against Ravne after that to cover his tracks. Then it progressed to trying to kill Ravne.”

_And it worked,_ I realize, thinking back to the first days of being Fiyr’s squire, when my mother pulled me aside to tell me that Ravne hadn’t just disappeared, that he had been killed in Shodawes territory.

“We got him out in time, though, and he’s living on Knave’s Moor with Barrleigh now,” Lady Schorme says and I nearly choke.

“I thought he was dead!”

“Everyone does,” Sir Sterrip puts in. “And it _has_ to be this way; if Sir Cawle finds out Ravne’s still alive, he’s gonna hunt him down to keep the secret quiet.”

“But the secret’s not quiet anymore,” Fiyr says softly. “We know because we helped him escape. And now we’re telling you.”

“Has Sir Cawle tried to kill _you_ all?!” I demand. _Is that what Fiyr meant? Is Sir Cawle going to try to kill me now too?_

“No, no, we’re safe as long as he doesn’t know that we know what he’s done,” Lady Schorme assures me. “You’re safe too. This is why Fiyr didn’t tell you, I have to assume, but I think it’s safer if you do know.”

“But what does this have to do with my accident?” I demand.

Lady Schorme blinks and shrugs, then looks to Fiyr. He runs his gloved hand through his hair roughly and says, “He’s trying to kill Queen Bluelianna. The last time he tried was with the report of a Shodawes invasion; he wanted her to come down to where that little cliff hides the soulpath.”

I’m starting to feel like a headache’s coming on. “You’re telling me… that he set up a fake Shodawes invasion so that the queen _might_ come to a spot that _might_ kill her?”

Fiyr sighs, a white puff shooting from his lips and floating up. “He’s trying to murder someone that can resurrect herself. He can’t just pull a sword on her because, although he’s scary as the Blacklands, he’s not going to be able to kill her multiple times before she can either kill him or get help. He needs to make it look like an accident—and so much like an accident that even the _queen_ believes it.”

Like a stone dropping into a pool, understanding suddenly hits me.

“Oh. His plan didn’t work because the queen didn’t come… I did.”

Fiyr nods, his eyes troubled, and Sir Sterrip and Lady Schorme’s eyes widen as they come to the same conclusion I did, then Fiyr continues, “That’s why I asked you if he apologized for seemingly nothing—I think he feels guilty.”

But I’m barely listening because anger is making blood rush through my ears, blocking out anything except a loop of thoughts. _It wasn’t an accident. It was his fault. It wasn’t an accident. I have someone to blame._

“Cindra?” It’s Lady Schorme’s voice that snaps me out of it. I realize I’m gripping Ashes’s reins so tightly my hands are shaking.

“Why are we going to Rivier?” I ask quietly. _There’s nothing I can do right now._

“To take him down.” Her jaw is set as she looks into the distance. “We spoke with Ravne recently and we have reason to believe the Riviens have information that could incriminate him.”

I don’t know how that could be possible, but I have to put my faith in them, it seems. _I can’t believe they’ve known about this since… since when?_ “How long have you known about all this?”

“Ravne told me about Sir Cawle’s attempts on his life years ago,” Lady Schorme admits. “Then the two of us tricked these two into helping him escape and finally told them what was going on.”

_So I guess there’s a theme of getting people to help you with missions without actually catching them up on what’s going on before you leave,_ I think. “Wait… you’ve known about this for _years_ and we’re only following a lead now?”

Lady Schorme frowns at my tone. “If I walk into the queen’s chambers and tell her that her captain of the guard is trying to kill her, one of two things happens. Either she believes me and her faith in the court is shattered, or she _doesn’t_ believe me, brings it up to Sir Cawle, and suddenly it’s my head on a stick.”

The grim reality makes me pause. _Well, if he’s so invested in making things look like an accident, he would probably drown you or something._ “Oh. But… I thought this whole operation was to get proof that Sir Cawle murdered your father to convince the queen. Why would it matter if you convince her and she loses all faith in the court like you say?”

It’s Sir Sterrip who answers me. “Because we don’t just need the queen on our side, we need the kingdom. We need proof so irrefutable that even Darriek Styrp will draw his sword on Sir Cawle when it’s over.”

_I don’t know if proof would matter to Sir Styrp._ I shift uncomfortably. _But we have to keep hope, don’t we?_ The idea that we could prove Sir Cawle’s supposed crimes and the court would just reject it and support him anyway, all the while he plans our deaths… It chills me more than the winter air.

“Well,” I say quietly.

“Cindra—” Fiyr begins, but I cut him off.

“Let’s go, then. Thundria’s in danger the longer we wait.”

Sir Sterrip and Fiyr exchange an uncomfortable look but Lady Schorme cracks a cool smile. “You’re right. I’m glad you’re with us.”

…

When we enter the inn, ducking into the doorway to escape the streams of villagers on the streets with their cloaks pulled over their heads and hunched against the wind, I have my first doubts.

It’s warm inside, which I’m grateful for, and it smells really good, which I’m also happy about, but it’s also distinctly unfamiliar. Fiyr and I went on a few supply runs during my short squirehood, but I don’t remember much except shelves and curious looks from villagers. Fiyr pointed out the trace of villagers to me but even that, I don’t remember.

Although as I survey the inn, taking in as much of the sights and sounds as I can, some of it comes back to me. The lack of presence and the familiarity with which they treat each other… I know that I’ve seen it before. The sugary trace is harder to pick out since we’re so close to the pillars of the four kingdoms, but it’s still faintly there. _But where are the Riviens?_ Everywhere I look, I see villager faces and groups, none of the pale faces and strong arms that I glimpsed at Gatherings.

“Follow me,” Sir Sterrip murmurs, and steers us to the back of the inn. It’s not until we’re right in front of them that I finally notice the two cloaked figures.

They look exactly like every villager we saw in the street, heads bowed and cloak hoods covering their faces, but the moment I see them, my eyes hang on them. _They’re from a kingdom. These must be the Riviens._ I wonder again how Sir Sterrip managed to arrange this meeting, but I don’t want to question him in front of them.

A strange sort of tension hangs in the air as we stand in front of their table, then Graie pulls out the chair opposing them and sits. On cue, the two figures pull back their hoods.

Lady Schorme and Fiyr both sit as well, Fiyr awkwardly sliding into the booth beside the two Riviens as Lady Schorme takes the other chair, leaving me to sit next to Fiyr in the booth as well.

I look at the Riviens, knowing I’m probably staring but unable to contain my curiosity. This inn is way better lit than Gatherings and I’m much closer to them than I ever was at a Gathering, either.

Both of the Riviens are women, silver-haired, and blue-eyed, but if I had to guess, I would say they weren’t sisters. A lot of Riviens share those traits. _Cousins, maybe._ The woman on the left, sitting across from Sir Sterrip raises her hands from her lap and rests them on the table, almost in a show of innocence like _See? I didn’t bring a dagger._ She’s strangely familiar, although I can’t quite place it. _Did I see her at a Gathering sometime?_

I notice that her hand is much lighter than the table, while my own matches better to the oak wood. She has a sprinkling of freckles across her face as well, although they’re far paler and fewer in number than Fiyr’s. Her hair falls in a loosely tied stream over her shoulder. The woman on the right is more tanned than her companion and her eyes are a little darker, with short hair that barely brushes her neck. They both look around Fiyr, Graie, and Samn’s age, or maybe a few years older.

It’s the woman on the left who breaks the silence.

“What did you want to speak with us about?” Her voice is deeper than I expected, smooth and clear like a low note of music.

Sir Sterrip answers her. “First, I believe introductions are in order. I am Sir Sterrip.”

The woman on the right nods, still looking distrustful, but her companion smiles non-threateningly. “I am Lady Strime.”

They shake hands and out of the corner of my eye, I see some expression cross Fiyr’s face, but it’s gone before I can turn to see it better. _What was that all about?_

“I am Lady Schorme,” Samn introduces herself, also shaking this Lady Strime’s hand.

Despite the lack of hostility in their voices, I can’t _not_ notice how nobody’s using first names. _Don’t wanna give away life-forces._ We don’t trust each other. I can’t blame them for it, though.

“Lady Feot. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the woman on the right says. Her voice is a bit familiar and I wonder if she spoke at a Gathering for something or if I overheard her.

“I’m Sir Harte, and this is Thundria’s novitiate, Cindra,” Fiyr tells them, motioning to me.

_Well, I guess there goes ‘keeping our life-forces a secret’._ I force a smile and feel relief when they don’t try to shake my hand too. Lady Feot nods, as though she expected me to be here all along, while Lady Strime’s eyes widen with curiosity as she regards me. _Did she see us come in? Did she see my limp?_ My cane’s tucked beside me, under the table, but they must have spotted it when we walked toward them. _Though they did have those cloaks over their heads._

“Let’s get down to business,” Samn suggests and the two women nod.

“What do you need from us?” Lady Feot asks.

“We wanted to speak with you about the battle for the Sun Rocks,” Sir Sterrip begins and though Lady Strime nods like she saw it coming, Lady Feot visibly recoils.

My stomach turns uneasily. _This can’t turn into a fight. I can’t do anything._

“Why would you bring it up?” Lady Feot hisses, leaning toward Graie. “Sir Hahrte was a father to me. It will take more years than these to bury the pain it caused.”

Sir Sterrip evidently didn’t anticipate that kind of reaction because he pulls back, eyes widening. “I’m sorry—we don’t mean to—”

It’s actually Samn who interrupts him, laying her hands on the table and pulling Lady Feot’s attention away from Graie. “And I lost _my_ father. We don’t deny the strife it caused.”

The hostility drains from Lady Feot’s face, replaced by unvoiced sympathy. It makes Samn pretty obviously uncomfortable and she continues, avoiding dwelling on it.

“But something happened in that battle that caused enormous ramifications that are threatening our kingdom.”

Lady Strime raises an eyebrow. “Sir Tayle’s death?”

“There’s nothing we can do about that now,” Lady Feot argues even though we haven’t said much of anything yet. “And we lost just as much.”

“ _That’s_ what we want to talk about,” Lady Schorme says, leaning forward just a hair and lowering her voice. “Your father’s death. He was an honourable man, wasn’t he?”

Lady Feot nods, a guarded look in her eyes.

“As was my father,” she continues quietly. “Your father would never have killed another knight.” She doesn’t wait for Lady Feot’s confirmation, but the Rivien woman still nods along as Samn speaks. “But the story of his death is that he killed my father, and then Sir Tigre Cawle, our new captain of the guard, killed _your_ father in retribution, isn’t that right?”

And as she speaks, I watch the two Riviens carefully. Although they mask it well, I see something in their eyes that makes me think they know something we don’t.

“That’s true.” Lady Strime smiles unconvincingly. “Why?”

Samn raises her chin a little and an unreadable expression flits across Lady Feot’s face. “Because I don’t think Sir Hahrte killed my father at all. And Sir Cawle didn’t kill Sir Hahrte.”

“What? That’s not—” Lady Strime begins, but her companion puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

Lady Feot has dropped the blank expression and pain crosses her face as she admits, “No. Sir Hahrte was not killed by another knight.”

_What?_ I frown. _Then who killed Sir Tayle? He’s not secretly alive and living on some barn too, is he?_

Triumph flares in Lady Schorme’s eyes, but she folds her hands and leans even closer to Lady Feot. “Then what happened to him?”

“The cave by here was unstable,” she admits, voice softening. “There was a cave-in.”

The consequences of her statement barely register to me as Lady Schorme leans back, a simultaneously resigned and victorious look crossing her face. I blink. _So Sir Hahrte died in a rockfall. Then…_

“What happened to Sir Tayle?” Lady Strime cocks her head, curious.

Samn’s gaze swivels to hers and she frowns. “You only thought to wonder that _now_? After all these years?”

Lady Strime shrugged. “We couldn’t find out without revealing the circumstances behind Sir Hahrte’s death.”

“And you didn’t do that to preserve his honour,” Fiyr guesses, finally speaking up.

Lady Feot nods wordlessly and Lady Strime blinks, not denying it. Irritation surges inside me. _Sure, it sucks that he went out in such a dumb, random incident, but this was important information! It let Sir Cawle get away with something that might have been under more scrutiny if they hadn’t covered up his death like that!_ Then again, it only affects Thundria. I can’t be _that_ surprised that the Riviens didn’t bother considering the effect on another kingdom; they’re famously self-interested.

“But really, why are you asking this?” Lady Feot presses.

Lady Schorme and Fiyr exchange a glance. Sir Sterrip seems distracted.

“If… it all comes to a head, we’ll fill you in on everything. But right now, this is Thundrian business,” Lady Schorme replies and for a second I worry that she’s not going to accept that as an answer, but after a beat, she nods.

“I see. Then is our business concluded?”

Lady Schorme glances at us, then Fiyr pipes up.

“One more thing.”

The Riviens tilt their head expectantly.

“Apparently, during the battle, Sir Hahrte told one of our court members that ‘no Thundrian knight should harm’ a Rivien knight named… Stowen Feur?”

_Huh?_ I haven’t heard anything about this, but Lady Feot’s eyebrows rise in recognition and she inclines her head a fraction.

“My brother.” Then she shrugs. “No, I have no idea why our father would say something like that. But… perhaps our foster mother would.”  
“Could we meet with her?” Fiyr asks.

Lady Feot nods. “I think it could be arranged. She’s an elder, though, and her memory is a bit spotty. But if anyone would know about that, it would be her.”

She plucks a paper napkin from the little holder on the table and reaches under the table, producing a quill and a pot of ink. _Keeping ink in your pocket is pretty confident,_ I think. _I’d be worried about it spilling._

In curling letters, she spells out _G-i-r-a-i P-a-o-l-l-e_ on the napkin and passes it over the table to Fiyr. “I’ll tell her to meet you all by the solstice pavilion in… four days time?” When Fiyr and Samn nod, she continues, “You should greet her by name or she won’t trust you. We’ll be there.”

When Fiyr confirms, we stand from the table, Fiyr and I sliding out of the booth to leave the two Riviens in the corner of the inn. Just as they pull their hoods back over their heads, I think I catch a tiny nod from Lady Strime, although she’s not looking at me, and I wonder again what connection we have to Rivier that let us coordinate the time to meet.

“Let’s get back to the court,” Lady Schorme announces pointlessly, heading back to the adjoined stable where we left our horses.

After that, none of us talk much on the way back. At least, I don’t. Fiyr and Samn take the lead and I hear them speaking quietly to each other ahead of Sir Sterrip and I. He’s not paying attention, seeming lost in thought, so I don’t interrupt him. I try to focus on the falling snow, but I can’t help watching Samn and Fiyr. My cane bumps on my leg as Ashes moves under me, reminding me where I am and who I am.

I tear my eyes away from Fiyr and look up at the sky. The falling snow almost seems to be stars in the sky, white points set against dark clouds. It’s a long time before we get back to the castle.

When we do get back on to the pavilion and put the horses back in their stables, though, Lady Schorme announcing our name through the door receives no response. She knocks twice, waiting each time, then shrugs and pulls open the door.

We’re greeted with the sight of every head in the court turning to look at us and Samn and Fiyr pause. I glimpse the queen through the ground, standing on the dais next to Briatte and Thorrin.

“Right on time,” the queen calls out to us, a smile on her lips. “Come up to the dais, Lady Schorme.”

Samn blinks, but we’re all realizing slowly what’s going on. Fiyr takes Samn’s hand and squeezes, and she turns back to give him a half-shocked smile, full of something that makes my chest tighten.

Applause starts from somewhere in the crowd, then spreads and I force my hands together with a smile.


	5. Chapter 4 - Cindra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey lads how you like Cindra's POV so far?

Chapter 4 - Cindra

I manage to keep my smile on through the ceremony.

“I call upon the Starlaxi to recognize this girl.” Briatte, whose ginger-and-white-streaked hair is carefully pulled back from her face, stares up at the queen worshipfully as Queen Bluelianna continues. “She wishes to learn the way of the knight and one day join your noble rank. You will train under Lady Samn Schorme until you reach your full potential and take on the name of a full knight. Lady Schorme, I trained you well, and you will pass on all you’ve learned to this young squire. I call upon the Lunar Crystal to give this girl her life-force ring!”

My little sister looks like she’s going to explode with excitement as the queen knocks her sceptre against the stone dais, summoning a cloud of mist that flies down to Briatte’s hand and covers her fingers for a few moments, then dissipates. She holds up her hand to examine the ring with a radiant smile, staring at it like she’s scared it’ll disappear any second. I can’t help cracking a real smile and run my thumb over the inside of my ring finger, feeling the stone band and reminding myself of my own squiring.

Briatte’s catches the light and I see that it’s some kind of amber seaglass. Lady Schorme looks at it as well and lays a hand on Briatte’s shoulder in a congratulatory gesture.

Queen Bluelianna begins the ceremony for my little brother too and Lady Fyrra leaves the crowd to come stand beside her new squire. I don’t think I’m imagining the flash of disappointment in Thorrin’s eyes and I think I can guess why. _He wanted a man like Sir Cawle or Sir Strommer, I bet._ But Lady Fyrra’s hardly been stuck in the nursery for years like Lady Flourer or Lady Faise, or even our own mother. She’s a bit scary, actually. Maybe that’s why Thorrin’s disappointed. But I know the real reason, no matter what I theorize.

_Maybe training with Lady Fyrra will teach him a bit of respect._ If anything, I’m surprised Thorrin’s acting like this; Brakken never showed the same attitude. I guess our mother had a harder time keeping Thorrin from picking up the feelings of a lot of the court.

As the mist around Thorrin’s hand disappears, leaving him with a new life-force ring, I can’t help wishing I could go back to the healer’s wing. It’s kind of hard watching a squire ceremony, as it turns out. _Wow, I never would have guessed._ Lady Schorme and Lady Fyrra take their squires off the dais and the queen pulls Sir Cawle aside to speak with him. The court starts to scatter back into the duties of the day.

I see Lady Fennen heading toward me and I give her a little curtsy half-instinctually. She grunts, which could mean anything from ‘Stop that nonsense’ or ‘Do it properly next time’ and then waves for me to follow her. I trail behind as she heads into the healer’s wing and then follow her over to her desk on the far left of the wing, half-relieved to be pulled back into work.

“What do you need?” I ask.

She eases herself into the seat behind the desk with another grunt and then motions for me to sit on the chair across from her. I do and squint at the surface of the desk. All the papers are written in the same chicken scratch. It’s completely illegible; really, it doesn’t even look like it’s written in our language.

“What do you know of the Creeping Corruption, Cindra?” she rumbles at last.

I blink. “Uh, I know that it’s… corruption.”

She frowns.

“And that it creeps.”

The frown deepens.

“Um.”

Lady Fennen lets out a burdened sigh and then leans toward me. The intent gleam in her hazel eyes makes me shift. “It was quite a miracle when that corruption just melted off your knee, wasn’t it?”

I swallow and shift, remembering Fiyr and I’s shoddy lie about how the cinders melted the corruption off my knee. We had to cover it up to keep Fiyr’s nephew safe; if the court finds out he can use god-magic, they’ll throw him out.

“Uh. Yeah, it really was,” I agree. I can lie better than Fiyr, at least, but something about the look in Lady Fennen’s eye makes me think she doesn’t quite believe me.

“I was only wondering the other day if that could be applied to the Creeping Corruption. It’s quite the problem in Thundria, isn’t it?” she asks.

I blink. “Yeah. It really it.”

“Cindra, I am going to ask you something and you are going to tell me the truth, alright?” Lady Fennen rumbles and I feel a nervous sweat coming on.

“Uh, okay, I will.”

She sighs again and I get the sense this is something she’s been thinking about for a while. I’m not that shocked when she says, “It’s about Clowd.”

I swallow hard.

“He can do god-magic, can’t he?” Her inflection hardly shifts to turn it into a question, though; I think she already knows. All I do is nod. “Right. And… Cindra, was he the one to get the corruption off your leg?”

I can’t help nodding again.,

“Okay.” She chooses her next words carefully. “Does the queen know?”

“I don’t think so,” I mumble. “Are we still talking about the Creeping Corruption?”

Lady Fennen half-smiles. “Yes, Cindra. I think Clowd might be able to slow it down. Or… even get rid of it entirely. But the queen needs to know.”

_But…_ “I think you should talk to Fiyr about it. It’s not… my business.” _He’s not_ my _nephew._ Almost as an afterthought, I say, “Please don’t tell anyone else about this.”

“Foolish child. I wouldn’t; I know what is on the line for… for both of them.” But there’s some kind of weight that’s been lifted off her face by what I’ve told her and she cracks another half-smile. “Go help the elders for the rest of the day. I dare say you’d like to keep busy. But would you send Sir Harte to me when you see him?”

I nod, grateful, and jump up from the desk, snatching my staff and hurrying out of the wing.

…

Four days later, Fiyr, Sir Sterrip and I head to the solstice pavilion to meet with the Riviens. Lady Schorme isn’t coming, as Fiyr informed me, because now she’s busy with her squire. _Well, great. I’m glad at least one of my siblings has a mentor committed to their training,_ I think sourly, glancing at Sir Sterrip.

Fiyr, of course, has been picking up the slack on Brakken’s training, but I definitely get an earful from my brother about Sir Sterrip regularly. Brakken tries not to go on about his training with Fiyr too much—he knows it’s a sore spot, at least—but I know how hard Fiyr’s been working with him. Just another reason why Fiyr’s _such_ a wonderful guy. I roll my eyes at the thought but can’t quite stifle the smile that accompanies it.

I nudge Ashes faster as we start to lag behind Fiyr and Graie’s horses. It’s not snowing, at least, but I still pull my hood tighter around my head to try to block out the wind. The new squire over-clothes haven’t been ordered and picked up yet, so I have to make do with the brown travelling cloaks Fiyr could scrounge up.

It’s almost noon when we arrive at the base of the four monolithic pillars. Three figures stand outlined across the pavilion, their blue cloaks stark against the white snow and gray stone. A slender woman, a rounder, more muscular woman, and a hunched figure that I’m guessing is ‘Girai Paolle’, Lady Feot’s mother.

Fiyr and Sir Sterrip dismount, and I quickly follow suit, sliding my staff out of the makeshift hilt affixed to Ashes’s saddles. We cross the snowy pavilion toward the three figures and Fiyr waves a hand in greeting, then calls out,

“Lady Feot, Lady Strime, and of course, Lady Paolle!”

It’s only then that I remember what Lady Feot told us to do. _We’re supposed to address her by name so she’ll trust us._

“Sir Harte,” Lady Feot replies, pulling her hood back. Lady Strime follows suit, shaking her hair free of the fabric. I watch her, awed by the casual grace of Riviens. Sir Sterrip notices too.

The hunched figure, who I now see is a very old woman, has wrinkles bunching around her eyes and mouth like the roots of a massive tree, and cloudy blue eyes. She doesn’t take off her hood, but she does look up at Fiyr, blinking in confusion.

“Mom, you remember Sir Harte,” Lady Feot says gently and the old woman blinks and forces a smile.

“Ah, yes, of course… er, Sir Harte. Good to see you.” She shakes a confused Fiyr’s hand and glances at Lady Feot.

“They want to ask you a few questions, Mom,” she tells her.

The elderly woman questions her daughter more and I can’t help glancing at Lady Strime. _Why is she here, again?_

“They’re about Sir Hahrte’s death,” Fiyr ventures cautiously. “I know he was your…” He glances uncertainly at Lady Feot and she nods. “Your husband.”

Lady Paolle gives a heavy sigh and nods. “I see. Let’s speak privately.”

Fiyr looks like a rabbit caught on a soulpath and looks to me, of all people. “Cindra? Lady Paolle, you wouldn’t mind if… if our novitiate hears?”

She peers at me through those cloudy blue eyes and blinks. “I suppose. Come.”

I exchange a look with Fiyr as the old woman hobbles away, leaving little boot prints in the snow as she heads to the middle of the pavilion. After a moment, we follow her to stand in the shadow of the platform for the leaders. It sits unoccupied; it won’t be filled until the summer solstice.

“What’s with the need for secrecy, m’lady?” Fiyr asks, furrowing his brows.

“I don’t want Meistya to hear,” she rasps.

Fiyr flinches and I feel the same jolt as Girai seems to unwittingly reveal the name of one of the Rivien ladies. _But is it her daughter or Lady Strime?_

“Your daughter? Why not?” Fiyr asks.

_What? How does he know Meistya isn’t Lady_ Strime’s _name?_ I blink. There’s something going on that I don’t know about. Meistya… Then does she have some kind of mist elementalism?

The elder shakes her head. “What do you need from me?”

“During the battle that… um, _we_ had with Thundria, years ago. For the village of the Sun Rocks,” Fiyr begins and Lady Paolle nods. “Sir Hahrte told a Thundrian knight that no Thundrian should harm Sir Stowen Feur.”

“Ah.” She nods and tilts her head up, closing her eyes in recollection. “Yes. I imagine he did.”

_But why?_ I swallow down the question; she seems to trust Fiyr. I have to leave it to him to ask.

“And why did he say that?” Fiyr asks gently.

Lady Paolle sighs. “If I tell you, you must swear not to tell Meistya or Stowen. I’d planned to tell them… when they were knighted, but the years dragged on and I believe it would do more harm than good to let the secret out now.”

“I swear. What secret?”

She glances at me and I nod, putting my hand over my heart quickly.

“Meistya and Stowen are not my children,” she confesses, her voice so thin that the wind almost carries it away. “Oeak found them… somewhere, and brought them to me… many years ago. He wouldn’t give me a straight answer on where they came from and I wanted to believe that the Starlaxi meant for me to have them but…”

“But what, m’lady?” Fiyr murmurs, his eyes wide but not daring to move to meet my gaze and give away our shock to the elder.

“But I could feel their Thundrian trace,” she whispers.

Fiyr inhales sharply but Lady Paolle’s stuck in a reverie. I don’t know if she even still knows we’re listening to her as she murmurs,

“But… I like to think they look like me, at least enough to keep the court convinced. Really, I was their mother, in whatever way matters. No Thundrian woman showed up on my doorstep demanding them back, anyway.”

I glance to Fiyr, but his gaze is still fixed on the old Rivien woman. _Could their real mother be at our court now? Lady Feot’s not exactly an elder, but she’s not just out of squirehood either. About Sir Strommer’s age, if I had to guess. I don’t know how old_ his _mother was, though; she’s gone. Maybe Meistya and Stowen’s mother is gone too._

But that brings up whole other possibilities that there could be people in the Thundrian court who are related to the two knights and don’t know about it. And why didn’t their mother try to get them back? And, for that matter, how did Sir Oeak Hahrte even come by the children in the first place? He didn’t steal them, surely?

“Is that everything?” Lady Paolle asks.

Fiyr nods, looking shell-shocked. “Do you really think…”

Girai, looking as lucid as I’ve seen her, levels her cool gaze at him and answers, “I know what was in the Trace that night. You won’t tell Meistya and Stowen? Please.”

He nods again. “I wouldn’t.”

She breathes a sigh of relief and gives him a smile that reminds me of Lady Fennen’s. “Thank you. I need to get back on the ship before my legs give out.”

Fiyr raises an eyebrow but offers her his arm all the same and they head back to where Meistya Feot, Lady Strime, and Sir Sterrip stand. The word ‘gallant’ comes to mind, but I brush the thought away and follow him quickly back to the group. I know I’d feel awkward hanging around a bunch of sort-of enemies like Sir Sterrip’s been doing, but he seems to be right at home.

“We’re going?” Sir Sterrip greets Fiyr familiarly with an easy clap on the back and for a moment, I feel an ache of envy. I have Brakken, I guess, but I don’t have that kind of close friend. I’m not lonely, exactly; I’ve got Lady Fennen and Fiyr and everyone, but I don’t think of them like best friends. It would be nice to have someone my age who I could talk to about those sorts of things.

Unfortunately, my options are my siblings, Faern, or Clowd. I can’t talk to Brakken, Thorrin, or Briatte about loads of things—it would just be weird—and Faern’s super young. So is Clowd, I guess, but he’s older than her, I think. He’s been growing really fast in any case, but even if he is almost as tall as me, it’s not gonna make up for the lack of life experience.

I’m reminded of what’s going on when Lady Feot— _Meistya_ —pulls her not-mother aside for a moment. Knowing her name feels like an intrusion of privacy. Lady Paolle obviously didn’t know what she was doing when she revealed it to us and I kind of wish I could just go back to not knowing. Even if the name isn’t tied to her life-force, which I doubt.

Whatever the old woman tells her not-daughter, it seems to satisfy the Rivien and she gives us a brisk nod. “I’m happy we could help you.”

“Thundria is indebted to you,” Fiyr answers gratefully. They shake hands, and Sir Sterrip and Lady Strime do the same. Lady Paolle and I meet gazes awkwardly.

The business concluded, we leave the Riviens to head back to their sea and walk back to where we left Blitz, Quicksilver, and Ashes. Sir Sterrip waits at least until we’re out of earshot until he asks,

“So?”

“Shit, Graie, you won’t believe me if I tell you,” Fiyr answers, amazed, and runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots. “You—she—”

Sir Sterrip glances at me and I shrug, mounting Ashes.

“Keep it to yourself,” Fiyr begins, “but she told us that… Lady Feot and Stowen Feur aren’t—aren’t Riviens. They’re not her kids.”

He frowns. “What? What are you talking about?”

Fiyr just shakes his head, still shocked out of words and I jump in.

“She told us that Oeak Hahrte brought them to her when they were really little and that she felt Thundrian trace on them,” I tell him. Graie’s hazel eyes widen.

“Wait. They’re… what?!” Mouth agape, he glances between me and Fiyr to confirm that what he’s hearing is real. “You mean they’re secretly Thundrian?”  
Fiyr nods. I frown.

“Okay, wait a minute though. Couldn’t they be god-toys or villagers or something that just got stuck with the Thundrian trace because of where they were?” I interject.

Graie shrugs. “I mean, _maybe_ , but that would mean that they have villager life-force and I think that if Rivier found out about that, they wouldn’t keep the kids around. Lady Paolle’s passing them off as her kids, I’m assuming?” When we nod, he continues, “Then her secret would be out the second they demonstrated broom life-force or whatever. And if they were god-toys, they would’ve had their spirits-clipped, right?”

“Exactly,” Fiyr agrees, but I’m not so quick to do the same.

“I’ve heard a lot about spirit-clipping but so far it hasn’t affected anyone I know,” I point out. “You and Clowd are fine. Why would you two be exceptions and not them? Couldn’t Meistya and Stowen be the same way?”

If I was paying closer attention, it might have registered that Sir Sterrip doesn’t react to hearing Lady Feot’s first name for ostensibly the first time. But as it stands, I’m a little preoccupied.

Fiyr shifts uneasily in Blitz’s saddle and glances over his shoulder like somehow the Riviens that we left back through the trees are going to overhear. “Well, Clowd’s… a special case, because of the whole… half-god thing.”

“And you are…?” I challenge.

He sighs. “I really don’t know. But I know that the risk of spirit-clipping is real. The queen’s obviously seen something happen, because she was really clear about not wanting to risk my life or Clowd’s when we first came to court. No, I think Stowen and Meistya really are Thundrian.”

Sir Sterrip’s actually the one to argue that point. “Well, what does it matter where they were born? They’re Rivien now.”

Fiyr half-laughs. “Graie, I’d be the first to agree with you, you know that. But this brings up the idea that maybe someone at court is their father or mother, or sibling even.”

“But why would they have given up their children?” I ask and they both fall silent before Fiyr eventually answers.

“That’s what we don’t know, I guess.”

Sir Sterrip shrugs carelessly. “Samn’s smart. Let’s tell her what we found out and see what she says.”

Fiyr nods and after a moment, so do I. _Yes, wonderful Samn. I’m sure she’ll know exactly what’s going on._ I’m not being fair, I know, but it’s kind of tiring to be magnanimous and thoughtful and kind all the time. Sometimes I just want to be a little petty.

We ride in silence for a bit, then Sir Sterrip breaks it by saying, “Looks like it’s gonna start snowing again.”

“Let’s hurry up,” I suggest and we spur our horses faster, galloping through the snowy forest. The path beneath the horses’ hooves is clear, at least, so there’s not much stopping us from reaching the base of the castle’s trees in a few minutes.

When we take our horses back to the stables, I catch sight of Sir Cawle leading a patrol out of the castle and it’s a sudden reminder of what this is all for. I look to Fiyr.

“You’re gonna talk to the queen now, right?”

He glances at me, almost spooked, then runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up. “I… yeah. I am.”  
“Will you tell her about the Meistya and Stowen thing?” I whisper.

“I guess I should.” He grits his teeth, then shakes his head with a sigh. “I really… I don’t know what to do. She should know everything, but I don’t know… whatever. I’ll tell her and then she can decide what to do about it.”

I nod. _That’s probably the best way forward._ I don’t know how it all fits together, but I trust the queen and I think that if anyone can figure it out, it’s her. And of course, Samn the Great and Wonderful. _But the queen actually has the power to do something about it._

Now we just hope that she will.


	6. Chapter 5 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go !! this is a good one

Chapter 5 - Fiyr

“Come in.”

I swallow and push the door to the queen’s private chambers further inward, then walk in. The queen puts down her quill and looks up at me, inclining her head.

“Yes? Sir Teyl said you wanted to speak with me?”

At the reminder of the man right outside the door, I glance back anxiously. _I hope he doesn’t hear any of this. He’s not exactly going to have a calm and thoughtful take on the Meistya and Stowen situation, and it’s only going to be worse when it comes to Sir Cawle’s treachery._ I don’t like thinking about how much support Sir Cawle has in the court. When he’s thrown out—if—who will the queen replace him with? Sir Strommer, probably.

“Er… yes,” I answer the queen, quickly seating myself in the chair across from her. “Um. I… have reason to believe that during the battle for the village of the Sun Rocks, when Oeak Hahrte—”

The queen’s face changes immediately from mildly curious to a stone front. “I have no interest in discussing that battle.”

My prepared patience evaporates and I can’t help a scowl from flickering onto my face. “Well, Your Majesty, I need to talk to you about it anyway.”

She must hear something in my voice because the rebuke that was forming when I contradicted her never comes and, though her face is still cold, she gestures for me to continue.

“I came to you with my concerns a few years ago, do you remember?” I began, the confidence that made me speak out against her rapidly retreating back into me. _Damn it. I need to sound sure._

The queen nods, her mouth tightening and I swallow.

“Well, I’ve learned that the Rivien captain that died wasn’t killed by a Thundrian knight.” The frown that crosses her face makes me worry I’m losing her and I quickly add, “I told you that Sir Cawle didn’t kill the Rivien captain. And you said that couldn’t be true because that would mean that _Sir Tayle_ killed the Rivien captain without provocation and Sir Tayle was an honourable man. But _neither_ of them killed Oeak Hahrte. He died in a cave-in.”

A look of long-buried sorrow crosses the queen’s face as she replies, “Then how was Sir Tayle felled?”

I run my hand through my hair. _Here we go…_ “Your Majesty, this…” I lean a little closer, praying to the Starlaxi that Liang doesn’t hear me from his post outside the door. “ _Sir Cawle killed him_. His ambition drove him to murder—he wanted to be made captain of—”

The sound of her hand slamming onto the table between us makes me jump and I’m shocked out of words. Her eyes seem to glow with blue fire.

“ _No_ , Sir Harte. I will not listen to these accusations,” she hisses. “Sir Cawle is an honourable knight.”

“My queen, you must!” I plead. “He has deceived us all—he was my _mentor_ , if anyone wants to believe in him, it was _me!_ But I’ve discovered—”

She shakes his head. “How have you _discovered?_ Has Ravne not left the affairs of the kingdom alone?”

_Oh shit, here we go_. But if the truth is all she’ll listen to, then it’s worth a try. “Not Ravne, Your Majesty. We—I went to Rivier. That was how I found out how the Rivien captain was actually killed.”

It renders her speechless and she stares at me. I can see the fury mounting behind the still expression and on an impulse, I add, “That wasn’t all I learned. There was something Oeak Hahrte said in the battle—”

“You’ve said enough,” the queen cuts me off.

_If she’s not listening, then I haven’t said enough._ “My queen, he said that no Thundrian knight should harm Sir Stowen Feur!”

“Sir Harte, you must leave me,” she snaps, hardly seeming to be listening to me.

“I asked the Rivien elder I was speaking to about the battle,” I continue, desperate. “And she said—”

“ _No!_ ” the queen shouts.

“He and his sister have Thundrian blood! Who but a Rivien could know—”

“If you value your position in this court you will _get out of this room. Now!_ ” she hisses, the words shooting out in rapid succession like daggers.

I recoil and stumble to my feet.

“I—Your Majesty—” I stammer, taken aback at her incandescent rage, brought on by seemingly nothing. _Why… it’s too much to hope that this could be brought on by thinking that Sir Cawle betrayed Thundria? Does she believe me now? No, it couldn’t be that. There’s something else. Something about Meistya and Stowen._

She takes a deep, shuddering breath and I see her hands grab at the edge of the table like she needs something solid to hold onto. Her knuckles are white as burnt-out ash. “Forgive me my outburst, Sir Harte.” But her voice is still tight and angry and I know that she’ll hear no more about Sir Cawle. “Please leave me. I need to think about what you’ve said.”

I nod, shaken hard by her words. The angry hiss feels like it’s still echoing around the room. _Now!_ Tearing my eyes away from her hands on the table, I turn and half-stumble out of the room.

Liang gives me a sneer but I can’t manage much more than a wide-eyed look at him. He blinks and I just shake my head. _I didn’t think the queen was even capable of that much anger. She always seemed so composed and controlled._ But that’s not exactly true; in the past couple years—after Liyon, really—she’s become just a little more... _off-kilter_ , I can tell. I voiced as much to Samn—who said I was imagining things, but I know I wasn’t then and I’m not now. The queen’s lost a bit of her grip. She’s a step closer to the edge.

It’s a scary thought.

_I should go talk to Cindra._ The guilt over dragging her into the situation with Sir Cawle and the Riviens is still weighing on me; I saw her face when she realized that the man the court trusts to keep them safe was responsible for her accident and it chilled me. She’s grown up since the accident, I know, but I can’t help seeing the happy kid she used to be when I look at her.

I head into the healer’s wing, trying to put the image of Queen Bluelianna’s blazing eyes and furious words out of my head as I go but find that neither Lady Fennen nor Cindra are there. My attention is immediately pulled away from my original reason for entering the healer’s wing and replaced with horror at what’s going on in here.

Braukkin, wearing an ill-fitting healer’s robe and bandages that bind his head, covering his eyes, is standing in the middle of the healer’s wing, his hands outstretched cautiously. Thorrin and Sewif are standing across from him, their backs to where he’s been sleeping for the past months, and in Sewif’s little fist is gripped Braukkin’s crutch.

My mouth hangs open. _Who’s guarding Braukkin? Why aren’t they putting a stop to this?!_ Then my gaze lands on where Sir Darriek Styrp is sitting with a book perched on his fingers, idly flipping the pages as though he’s completely unaware of what’s going on.

“What in the Blacklands is going on here?” I finally snap. Braukkin flinches at the sudden sound of my voice and Thorrin and Sewif look up, a guilty expression flitting across Thorrin’s face. Sewif is nothing but defiant, however.

Darriek sneers. “Fiyr. What can I do for you?”

‘ _Sir Harte’, jackass._ “What—Sewif, Thorrin, get out of here. Sewif, put that down.”

To my relief, Sewif drops the crutch without argument and then strolls out of the healer’s wing. Thorrin trails behind him and I give them both a stare as they leave. _I need to talk to their mentors. I’m sure Lady Fyrra would be furious to hear about Thorrin’s behaviour but…_ Liang… might be less inclined to see his squire antagonizing a blind murderer as a problem.

There are more pressing concerns, though. Braukkin is swaying in the middle of the room like he’s about to lose his balance. I debate for a split second whether I should grab him and steady him, then decide against getting too close and hurry over to the cot where Sewif dropped the crutch, snatch it up, then approach Braukkin cautiously.

“Here,” I say, awkwardly thrusting it toward him. He reaches out, fumbling, then gets a hold of the crutch and tucks it under his arm. My heartbeat thrums quicker even though I know he’s not doing any harm in his current state. Lady Fennen bundled his sword away into some deep, dusty cupboard, and I can always just run away if he tries to use his life-force.

Thankfully, my anxiety is for nothing. Braukkin lets out a low groan.

“You should go back to your cot,” I say, and emboldened, give him a little push in the direction. _I guess it’s pretty different going blind when you’re in the middle of your life. You have to relearn everything about the world._

Then again, Braukkin’s only world is the most isolated bed in the healer’s wing. I’m not sure he’s been spoken to directly in days. The moment the scarred man is back on the white sheets, I whirl on Darriek. Bastard’s still flipping through his book carelessly.

“What was that?!” I snap.

“What was what?”

The urge to march over there and rip his book in half surges up inside me, but I stamp it down. He’s not even meeting my eyes.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Finally, he sighs and sets his book aside. “Look, I don’t really have time for your dramatics. You’ve put an end to the only entertaining thing that’s happened around here for years, so if you don’t mind, I’d like—”

“Shut up!” I snap. “How are _you_ strapped for entertainment? Your whole life is a joke.”

I’m goading him, I know, but there have been enough things I’ve encountered today that I couldn’t fix— _Graie and Silaverre staring at each other, Cindra’s anger and confusion at finding out about Sir Cawle, the queen’s words, Sewif and Thorrin’s childish cruelty_ —that my better judgement when it comes to not trying to get into a fistfight with Darriek has gone out the window.

“God-toy.”

He’s not terribly creative, but it stings all the same and my hand drops onto the hilt of _Fireheart_ , then I force myself to let go. _Come on, keep it together, Fiyr. If you attack him first, you’ll be the one getting punished._

“What’s going on in here?” I’m beyond relieved to hear the rasp of Yllowei from the doors to the wing.

The old healer and Cindra are standing in the entrance. I’m not sure how much they’ve heard, but based on Yllowei’s resigned expression and Cindra’s mix of horror and disgust, they heard Darriek’s last… comment.

Darriek stands and stretches as Yllowei marches into the wing, Cindra on her heels. “We were just chatting.”

Lady Fennen curls her lip at him and he gives her a slimy smile, then heads out of wing. He’s barely out of sight when I hear a sound like bodies crashing into each other, and then Darriek’s voice as he says, “ _Half-breed_.”

I tense as my fear is confirmed. Clowd appears in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder, confused. _Couldn’t even go for someone his own size anymore._ It was bad enough when he was just being nasty to me; going for Clowd? I want to chase him down and beat him to a pulp, but it’s hardly an opportune time.

“Good afternoon, Clowd,” Yllowei rasps, more friendly than usual. I can guess why. He looks up at her, blinking, then answers,

“Hi, Lady Fennen.”

Yllowei regards him for a moment, then retreats to her desk on the other side of the wing. I let out my breath slowly. _Count to ten._ When I open my eyes, I’ve slipped into the fifth dimension by accident. The sharp, dry feeling on my tongue is just a reminder and with another heavy breath, I come back to reality and walk over to where Clowd is still standing, confused.

“Hey buddy, how’s your day?”

Clowd looks up at me and frowns. “Why did Sir Sturp say that to me?”

I repress my immature satisfaction that Clowd can't be bothered to pronounce Darriek’s name properly, but the question begs a more serious answer than I’m ready to give. “Because… he’s awful. What have you been up to?”

He frowns and his face starts to redden. For a moment, I’m scared I’m about to have a tantrum on my hands, but thankfully he doesn’t get any more upset, only folds his arms and scowls.

“C’mon, Clowdy,” It’s Cindra who saves me from dealing with his mood. She moves briskly from where she was standing in the doorway and grabs his hand. “I’ve got to go visit the main gardens to get some herbs.” She darts a glance up and for a second I think she’s looking to me but her eyes meet Yllowei’s behind me and then she asks Clowd, “Would you like to come?”

My nephew brightens instantly. “Outside the castle? Really?”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Yeah! And Sir Harte? You’ll come?” Despite knowing I probably have other stuff to do today, when Cindra widens her eyes at me I can’t help a laugh.

“Sure, alright. Go put on some warmer clothes, Clowd.” He runs off and I eye him as he goes. _Would some of the squire’s over-clothes fit him?_ He’s a big kid; _really_ big, when I think back to the size of Thorrin or even Sewif when they were around his age. I know why, though.

When he’s out of the healer’s wing, I turn to Cindra.

“Thanks for that,” I say. “I was worried he was gonna start one of his tantrums.”

She huffs a laugh. “You and me both.”

He’s gotten a bit of a reputation, I guess; surprisingly, Clowd’s pretty soft spoken most of the time, but I know that his temper can get out of control. Which worries me a little; it’s fine when he’s a little kid because every kid’s going to scream and cry sometimes, right? But if he ends up even _close_ to the size of a god and he hasn’t grown out of it… I shudder.

Cindra and I wait for Clowd to come back with his winter over-clothes and then we head out too to get our things. Clowd’s made a complete one-eighty on his mood, which I send a quick thank-you to the Starlaxi for. I guess he’s happy to get to leave the castle for the day.

I’m just leading Blitz away from the knights’ stables when I catch sight of Cindra with Ashes. Clowd is skipping along beside her.

“Let’s go!” he cheers.

“You can ride with me, Clowd,” I invite, beckoning him over to Blitz. She paws the leaves but doesn’t object, so I grab Clowd under the arms and hoist him over her flank. _Blessed Starlaxi, he’s heavy._

“I can’t wait for my horse,” he tells me, petting Blitz carefully on a small patch of exposed coat. “We’ll be friends.”

Relief washes over me. _His good mood seems to be permanent. Maybe we’ll actually have a nice time._

“Come on, slowpokes!” Cindra shouts across the trees, already standing by the patch of leaves that will transport us to the forest floor.

I jam my toe into the foothold on Blitz’s side, then swing my other leg over the saddle, sliding into the leather that’s been worn down to match the shape of my legs and backside over the years. Clowd makes an excited sound as I press my heels to Blitz’s side, nudging her forwards. We ride over to Cindra, who promptly vanishes through the whole.

“Hold on, buddy,” I tell Clowd, then we drop through it too. I hear him scream as the world rushes away from us and then reappears. Clowd catches his breath.

“That was so scary!” he exclaims. “Can we do it again?”

“We need to go buy stuff with Cindra!” I can’t help a laugh at his enthusiasm for the enchanted grass that’s become just a part of day to day life for me. “We’ll do it again when we come back.”

“Aw. Where are we going?”

“Nowhere fast, apparently,” Cindra snorts.

She’s halfway out of the clearing where the ladder and transportation circle are already, looking back at us impatiently.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Yllowei, she’s rubbing off on you,” I tease, but snap Blitz’s reins and follow her out of the clearing.

Cindra makes a beeline for one of the main roads through the thickest part of Thundria’s forest. I’ve been on it many times; it cuts straight from each border to the other and most patrols take it unless they’re looping back around to check in on villagers. Clowd takes in the forest with big eyes, commenting on everything he sees, be it a bird, a flower, or…

“What’s that orange man over there?” Clowd asks.

My heart nearly stops and I switch to the Trace as fast as I can. _Just a villager._ I breathe out slowly. _Thought it was an elf._ I peer through the trees toward where Clowd indicated and see the man. Just a red-haired villager riding a donkey with packs over its sides.

“A villager, buddy. They live and work on the farms and in the towns on Thundria’s territory,” I tell him. “It’s our job to keep them safe and to help them with… problems and stuff.”

“Can we go talk to him?” Clowd asks eagerly, leaning over Blitz’s side to stare through the trees at the man.

“No, buddy, we should probably leave him alone. It’s not really the way of the court to interfere too much with villagers,” I say. “We only step in if they’re in danger.”

“And what do _we_ get?”

“We get… just about all the supplies for the kingdom. Food, clothes, building supplies, almost anything you can think of.”

“Books?”

“Yeah, books, some villagers make books,” I agree, nudging Blitz a bit faster as we start to fall behind Cindra.

Clowd pokes my back. “Are there villagers at court?”

“Uh, no, we don’t have any villagers that live in the castle,” I reply, focusing on Cindra. “They live in cities and towns all over our territory. Only knights and squires and everyone live at court.”

“Are we like villagers?”

“Mostly, yeah. We’re all human, but we’re descended more directly from the maiorum and we have stronger life-force; we have summoners, elementalists, and alchemists. That kind of thing.”

“But I don’t… am I a villager?”

I stiffen, accidentally pushing Blitz faster when my knees clench. I force myself to relax. “No, why do you say that?”

Clowd’s voice gets softer from behind me. “Well Sir Sturp says I’m not supposed to be at court and you said there aren’t villagers at court. Am I a villager?”

“No, buddy, you’re not a villager.” I swallow.

“But I’m not exactly like you, am I?”

I’m saved by Cindra calling to us. “We’re just about here! You guys can come along to the gardens if you want; it’s not very exciting though, lots of plants and stuff.”

She dismounts Ashes and hands her off to the stableboy by the entrance of the village, then walks through the gate on foot.

“Do you want to go too?” I offer to Clowd.

“Okay.”

I swing myself off Blitz’s saddle and then help Clowd down. The same stableboy comes to take Blitz off my hands and I give him a smile in thanks. I take Clowd’s hand and we follow Cindra through the gate to the town. She’s already found the gardens and is walking around the snow-covered gardens toward the cabin-looking building where I’m assuming the herbs are dried and prepared. I don’t actually know how much they tax from the villagers and how much they can make in the healer’s wing.

“Fiyr? You didn’t answer my question.” He frowns and I worry he’s about to start arguing and shouting. _Not while we’re out here, please, blessed Starlaxi._

I shift uneasily. “I—can I tell you something first?”

Clowd blinks. “Okay. What?”

“I love you, Clowd, your mom loves you so much, and whoever can’t see that is blind. Okay?” I repress the impulse to try to hug and squeeze the guts out of him as his pout brightens a little. “And there _is_ something different about you. But you know what? It doesn’t make you less than anyone else at court. You’re smart and kind, Clowd, and that’s more than I can say for Darriek Styrp. Don’t listen to anything he says.”

“I’m different,” he repeats, as if he hasn’t heard anything else I’ve said. “I knew it! Why?”

I swallow. “Well… Faern’s mother is Lady Faise and her father is Sir Strommer, right?”

Clowd nods.

“And your mother is my sister Princesca and your father… was… uh, your father was a god.” I search his face for a reaction, but he just keeps blinking his unnaturally blue eyes. “So you’re half-god.”

“That’s why he says ‘half-breed’.” My heart aches as Clowd realizes. “And is that why I can do the sparkles?”

I nod. “And that’s why I thought it was dangerous for the rest of the court to see it. Because they don’t like gods much. But you know that I was a servant, right? And some of them thought I was never going to be a knight.”

“But you _are_ a knight,” Clowd points out.

“ _Now_ I am.” I can’t help a laugh at his confidence in me. “But back then… it wasn’t so easy for me. And I know it’s not going to be easy for you. But like I said, you’ve got a good heart, Clowd, and you’re my sister’s son. I believe in you, and at the end of the day, if you believe in yourself too, you’ll be a knight.”

Clowd takes my impromptu speech in silently, then shrugs. “I get it. But… what’s going to happen when I’m older? Gods don’t really look like humans. Am I going to look weird?”

The first thing on my tongue is _Not any weirder than you already do_ but I brush that off and say instead, “I don’t know, buddy, but I think you’re just going to… be a big… big person. And lots of people are big. You’re not going to stick out in crowds, alright?”

To my surprise, his eyes instead get big and he starts to smile. “Am I going to be tall? Taller than you?”

I frown. “Yeah, probably.”

He claps his hands with glee. “I’m going to be the strongest knight ever. I have a secret power, right?”

“That’s one way to think of it.” I’m just glad he’s not sobbing. “I guess you kind of do. You know, you might be able to do a lot of good in the kingdom with your powers, so I think it is a good thing, in some ways.”

“What’s bad about it?” he questions.

I pause. “Uh… well, I know some members of the court are going to give you a hard time about it.”

Clowd shrugs. “But that’s a problem with them, not with me.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that a laugh bubbles up inside me, but I press it down. “You’re right. You’re totally right. And you should always remember that.”

“Can we go in with Cindra?” he asks. “I’m cold.”

“Oh! Of course, yeah, come on,” I agree, waving him on toward the cabin. We pass the garden, which at this time of year is really only a few yellowish stalks poking through snow, and I pull open the door of the apothecary attached to the gardens.

It swings out, a chime coming from within, and warmth from inside the shop washes over us. I usher Clowd in and shut the door behind us. The ceiling is low and I have to move around a hanging lamp to make it to the back counter where Cindra’s standing and trading with the woman behind the counter. She’s short and has wild gray hair, her dark eyes magnified by enormous spectacles perched on her nose. I’m glad to see that Cindra seems to be getting on well with her.

“Almost ready to go?” I ask.

“Yeah, just about—hey, Clowd, what are you doing?!” Before I know what’s happening, Cindra’s practically leapt across the store to snatch a pouch out of my nephew’s hands.

“I was just looking!” Clowd protests. “What is it?”

I hurry over to them, concerned. Cindra’s holding a small cloth bag close to her body like she needs to keep it as far from Clowd as possible and looking over him, scared, like he might have eaten something.

“Amortal berries,” Cindra tells him in a low voice. “They’re really dangerous; you shouldn’t be playing with them. One would be enough to cripple your life-force, two to take it away entirely.”

_And we know what happens to a person without their life-force,_ I think, exchanging a look with Cindra. “Clowd, buddy, just don’t touch anything while Cindra finishes up here, yeah?”

“Okay,” Clowd answers, looking a little shaken by Cindra’s intensity.

I shudder privately. _I didn’t even realize there was something besides spirit-clipping and god-corruption that could strip your life-force from you._ It would be like the slowest-acting poison ever; based on what the queen told me, it would take a year before the victim actually died. _A year of slowly weakening without the fire in your soul that kept you alive for so long until you finally don’t wake up, little more than a corpse._ Probably among the worst ways to die.

“Why do you keep this in an apothecary?” I demand of the woman across the counter.

“We work as florists too,” she defends herself, adjusting her spectacles. “The berries are a beautifully vibrant shade of red. And I believe, long ago, there was a process for turning the berries from poisonous to curative. Perhaps the art is lost forever, but I’ll have a nice supply if it ever comes back into popular use.”

_A medicine made of poison?_ It sounds far fetched. “What was it supposed to do?”

“That, I cannot tell you. But if you ever need a supply, come to me. I know some apothecaries around these parts that are less friendly to the court,” she warns us. There’s a glint in her eye that I’m not sure I trust, but I give her a nod all the same.

“Are we done here?”

Cindra nods, reaching out as if she’s going to take the last box the apothecary has put on the counter and stack it on top of the other two.

“No, no, that’s not a good idea. Clowd, can you help?” I ask. He brightens immediately from where he was sulking over being reprimanded for almost killing himself by accident and hurries over to the counter to take the box from Cindra.

The apothecary eyes him warily but I stare her down until she closes her mouth. She gives me the tiniest bow as we exit the shop. _She gives me the creeps. Floral arrangements my ass, she sells poison._ Amortal would be my choice if I was trying to cover up a murder. By the time they’re dead, you could be long gone. You wouldn’t even _have_ to be long gone. There would be no evidence left when they finally died.

A dark thought about Sir Cawle flits through my head, but I brush it off. _No. I’m not going to poison him. That’s dishonourable. And what if it_ did _get traced back to me? The queen doesn’t trust me after what I said. If she caught me trying to poison Sir Cawle? That’s way too risky._

And then, looking back at Cindra and Clowd, and thinking of my resurrected relationship with Graie and newly budding one with Samn… _I have too much to live for. I can’t risk losing everything I have when I’ve been so lucky._ I look up at the sky. _Winter’s almost over. It’s going to be Flowerstar’s Morn soon. I just hope nothing ruins this._

“Let’s head back.”


	7. Chapter 6 - Fiyr

Chapter 6 - Fiyr

_I can hear a child crying over the sound of water._

_I’m standing in the village of the Sun Rocks, but something’s wrong; it’s deserted. I’m in the middle of the town square, next to the fountain. Is that where the sound of water is coming from?_

_I turn to see two children, a boy and a girl, in rags, clinging to the white skirts of a woman, but when I look up at her, her face is completely smooth. She has no eyes, no nose, no mouth, though her hands stretch down to rest on the heads of the children. The woman is standing before the fountain, then as I watch, she lifts her hands from her children and steps back._

_She turns and, gathering her skirts, walks into the fountain. The children begin to cry again. I try to speak, but no sound comes out. The woman turns to face me, her skirts flowing around her slowly as they become waterlogged._

_“Fiyr. Their safety will be in your hands one day.” Her voice is distorted, like it’s coming from far away, or it’s underwater. The smooth surface of skin where her face should be doesn’t move. “Take care of my children.”_

_I open my mouth again, but still can’t force my throat to make a sound. The outline of the woman in white begins to blur. Her silver-gray hair comes unbound and begins to float around her in smoky tendrils like she’s underwater, then she fades into mist._

_My voice finally is released and I shout “Wait! Who are you?” But the city is empty, save for the two little children crying at my feet._ What kingdom are you from, little ones? _I wonder, but they’re clothed in nothing but dirty white rags, not the green of Thundria, the brown of Wynnd, the silver of Rivier, or the black of Shodawa. The same as the woman; unidentifiable._

_I hear the water again, but this time it’s not the ripples and droplets of the fountain; it sounds like a hurricane. The distant roaring gets louder and I look up, straight down the road to the gates of the village of the Sun Stones._

_A wall of water thunders toward me._

_The children scream and I reach for them, desperate to protect them, but there’s no shelter as the gargantuan wave barrels down the streets, smashing house and stalls, ripping posts free of their foundations and wrapping it all up in the water._

_“We have to run,” I try to tell them, but it’s too late, the wave’s upon us—_

I snap awake.

…

It’s still dark out when I wake up, my heart racing. Only moonlight filters in my window and I press my hand to my chest, able to feel my own heartbeat through my cotton sleep-clothes. _What kind of crazy nightmare was that?_

But I don’t usually remember my nightmares. The last scary dream I had… _Was years ago. When Graie and I were sent to bring Wynnd back._ Although that dream wasn’t exactly like this one. This time, I didn’t have dead Thundrian captains of the guard showing up to stop time and tell me what was happening. _Who was that woman?_ Her lack of identifiably coloured clothing almost makes me think she’s a god-toy or an outlander. _Princesca?_ But even though I couldn’t see the woman’s face, she looked nothing like Princesca based on what I _could_ see; shorter and more broad-shouldered with silvery hair.

_Then who was it?_

Maybe she was from the kingdoms. If I remember right, white clothes are for the recently dead. Has she died? _And who were the children?_

Something occurs to me like a chill of ice-water flooding over me.

_Meistya and Stowen?_ Was that their mother? But that doesn’t help me; I don’t think I’ve ever seen the woman in my life. It’s hard to remember much of the dream; she was faintly familiar, but at least a couple years older than I am. _Perhaps their mother in the past? If this dream wasn’t just some random vision and it really did have something to do with real life, then is her warning going to come true? What possible situation am I going to be in where the lives of two older, more experienced knights from_ another kingdom _are going to be in my hands?_

I sigh and swing my legs over the side of my bed. My bare feet hit the stone and I shiver, feeling the cold seep away the warmth of sleep. _No point in obsessing over it now._ As far as I know, Rivier’s doing fine and I shouldn’t go interfere with them. While I’m sitting there, staring at my dresser’s mirror where I can barely see my own reflection in the dark, I hear a door opening from down my hall.

For a moment, my mind jumps to the worst case scenario, that somehow Rivier or Shodawa is back for revenge after we drove them out of Wynnd’s territory, but I quickly calm myself, knowing it’s pretty unlikely. Shodawa’s style may be skulking around and ambushing, but I doubt that even they would stroll into another kingdom’s castle in the early hours of the morning. _Not to mention the unlikelihood of being able to pull that kind of trick on Thundria._

So what was the door sound?

_Oh. Of course._ It’s Graie. I hear his footsteps, now that I’m paying attention. The old throb of irritation pulses through me when I think about how I’ll have to divert Sir Cawle’s attention tomorrow and find something for Brakken because even though Graie keeps saying he’ll sort things out before he leaves, he never does, but I try my best to stifle it. _I said I wouldn’t judge._

Still, am I not allowed to be frustrated that he isn’t putting in the work to cover for himself? If I put aside my qualms about it being against the knight’s code, he’s still creating a lot of work and anxiety for _me_. He should actually be sticking to his promises to figure out a training regimen for Brakken that can include days where he can leave to see Silaverre Strime. I’ve been trying to think of it the same way as I think of my own visits to see my sister—it’s not a wrong thing to do, it’s just that the court might not agree that it’s okay so it needs to stay under wraps.

I’m not sure I quite believe it.

Even with all my pent-up frustration with Graie, though, I can’t bring myself to take it up with him; things have been so good between us lately. It was like we’d put our friendship on hold for the years where we were at each other's throats— _Sometimes literally,_ I think, wincing at the memory of our scuffle—and now that we’ve made peace, everything’s okay again. I don’t know if it’s _real_ though, or if we’re just ignoring the giant spike of corruption in the relationship.

I’ve fought with him enough about Silaverre to know that he won’t budge, though. I told him to stop meeting her and so he told me he would and then kept doing it anyway. I told him to choose between us. He chose her. And even though I want to be angry at him for it, when my better half turns it around to put myself in his place with Samn and him, I shy away. _What if Graie told me to choose?_

It might make me so angry that he’d dare to ask it that I’d choose Samn out of spite. _Is that why he chose her?_

_There’s no point in obsessing over this, either, though_. Graie’s going to keep meeting the Rivien knight, and complications around Brakken will still arise. It’s oddly comforting, when I put it in those terms. If it’s out of my hands, I won’t feel guilty that I’m not doing more.

I stand up, stretching in my dark room and feel my bones shift and crack as my body wakes up. The sun’s beginning to rise and I think I can hear some of the court’s early risers moving around. Sighing, I flick my finger and light the candle on my dresser and pick up the basin next to it to go to the water pump and fill it with water for a morning wash before I inevitably have to figure out what to do with Brakken and how to convince Sir Cawle that Graie’s disappearance is totally not related to code-breaking behaviour.

_At least Graie’s not murdering anyone to further his sick ambitions._ Another thing to worry about. Ever since the queen brushed me off, our mission to stop Sir Cawle has ground to a halt. Thankfully, he hasn’t made any moves on the queen’s life, but it doesn’t rest easy with how we’ve been ignoring it.

One day at a time, though.

…

Luckily, Sir Cawle doesn’t ask too many questions and assigns me to take Brakken training with Samn and her squire. Definitely a best case scenario.

I take my empty plate to the kitchen to be washed by Sewif and Thorrin, neither of whom are pleased to be assigned kitchen duty, and then head back out into the throne room to find Brakken and Samn.

Brakken’s already there waiting and when his eyes land on me, his face falls. I push away the sting of it. _He’s just upset that Graie’s not here._ I can’t blame him at all.

“What’s he doing today?” Brakken asks, though his tone makes me wonder if he actually cares about the answer.

“Talking to some villagers about a supposed merc take-over of Atmos,” I answer quickly and though his reaction falls short of outright snorting, Brakken’s look is enough to assure me that he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said.

“Right. What are we doing, then? Sir Cawle just told me to wait here.”

“Lady Schorme and her squire are going to go learn to shoot on the further targets.” It’s been about a year since Briatte and her brother were squired, and Samn can barely help herself from telling me every little inch of progress Briatte makes. After I got over the ache of familiarity when I think of Cindra, I’ve been just as interested in the training of the daughter of Sir Hartef. She seems to take after the sunny captain of the guard more than her often-sullen brother and has quickly become a favourite of the court. “We’re going to tag along and maybe you can give Briatte some tips, you know, squire-to-squire.”

“Target practice?” Brakken’s eyebrows raise and again, even though he doesn’t make a sound, I can tell he’s disappointed.

“Well—” I stop myself, taking stock of the squire in front of me. _He’s not a boy anymore._ Sure, he’s not quite a man either, but he must be sixteen or seventeen already. Not a child. “You know what, Brakken? I want to talk to you about a few things.”

He balks at my tone and I quickly reassure him.

“No, no, nothing—er, you’re not in trouble. But you’ve grown up in a very… turbulent time, right? Your sister, your mentor, your father… a lot’s happened to you, and I just… want to check in.” I don’t know if I have the right words, but someone’s got to try or Brakken’s going to start realizing that there aren’t many people looking out for him.

He pauses, absorbing what I’ve said, then nods. “I see.”

I spot Briatte leaving the squire’s wing and turn back to Brakken, hoping to quickly get a word in before Samn shows up too and we have to leave. “And listen. I know you’re too experienced to be shooting on targets for kids. I think we should have an all-day hunting trip too. We can plan it on a day that Sir Sterrip can come too. But today, why don’t you try thinking of Briatte like your… your proto-squire?”

“My what?”

I grasp for the right words to explain what I’m thinking of. _I’ve got to do something or he’s going to feel like we think he’s still a twelve year old._ “Like… pretend you’re her mentor. Help her like you would your own squire. Because you’re going to be a knight in the next few years, you know, and I think you’re exactly the right kind of person that a squire would be lucky to be mentored by.”

Brakken brightens at that and I breathe a sigh of relief. “You think?”

“Yeah! You’re kind, and patient—much more than I am—and you’re very… well-rounded.”

The effect that a single compliment has on him almost makes me sad; aren’t there enough people in his life telling him that he’s doing a good job? _I guess Lady Fuor has to worry more about her younger children, Sir Hahrte is dead, Cindra’s… pretty occupied, and Graie… is also_ occupied _._ Even though I know it’s bad, I want to blame Graie again. _This kid needs another parent. He needs a role model, someone to show him the way, and for him to be mentored by a knight who’s absent more often than not…_ It gets under my skin.

“Ready to go?”

Samn’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I turn to her. “Yeah, we—” Her hair is in a braid and the look in her eyes dares me to comment. “Um. We’re about ready to go. Yes.”

“Great.”

“Great,” I echo, then spin and pull open the castle doors. As Samn and I head to the knight’s stables, I keep my eyes straight ahead. “Er, just so you know, I suggested to Brakken that he give Briatte some squire-to-squire tips on shooting.”

“Alright.” Despite her acknowledgement, I hear something in her voice that makes me a little nervous.

“And…” _Shit, I definitely should’ve checked with her before suggesting this to him._ It was a spur of the moment thing. _Impulsive._ “Well, I thought…”

“What?”

“Maybe we could—I told Brakken to act like he was Briatte’s mentor.” I wince as the words leave my mouth. _What a terrible way to put it._ “I mean—not that, more like... he could see what it would be like to mentor a squire.”

Samn stops and my heart dives into my boots to hide. “What?”

I stop as well and turn. Her eyes are narrowed but other than that her expression is unreadable. “Sorry, should I not have?”

“You should have talked to me before telling some kid to take over my squire’s training, yes,” Samn agrees, eyes flashing.

_Well, hold on a second._ “Some kid—Samn, he’s almost a knight.”

“He’s a squire, actually. And Briatte is _my_ squire.” Her tone is verging more and more on openly irritable and I get the sense I need to start on damage control before this turns into a real argument. “I know Graie’s been neglecting Brakken, and I think it’s good of you to take on his training in his place, but that doesn’t mean you’re suddenly the squire master that decides what everyone’s doing with their time.”

I’m taken aback. _I didn’t think she’d be so annoyed._ “I… I can tell him that we’re not doing that anymore. Sorry, I really didn’t think—”

“I know you didn’t think. And you should probably tell him, yes,” she snaps, then takes a breath. “Sorry. Well, if you’ve already given him the impression that… you shouldn’t confuse him, but… damn it. Talk to me first about this kind of thing!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I will,” I promise. “Do you want me to tell him that we’re doing something else or not?”

Samn presses her fingers onto her forehead. “I don’t know, don’t put this on me. You figure it out. The squires are coming back.”

And before I can say another word, she turns away and walks to Dune’s stall. I stand there, confused and frustrated with myself. I again have the urge to blame it on Graie. _Well, I wouldn’t have to be making up things for Brakken to do if Graie would just do his damn job!_ Brrakken and Briatte have come over to me and Brakken looks at me, perceiving the stress that has arisen from my conversation with Samn.

“Brakken… er, we’re actually going to do something else today. Change of plans,” I decide quickly. _I’m not going to put it on Samn to figure it out, like she said. And I think we both need time to cool off._ There’s something else going on with Samn, I think; some feeling she has about her own squire, although I’m not sure where it came from. _I’ll talk to her later. When we’re less antsy and charged up._

“Oh! Okay, what are we doing?” He, at least, seems to be in a better mood. I’m glad he’s open to changing easily; it’ll make everyone’s lives easier.

_What_ are _we doing?_ I think quickly. “Well, you’re too experienced for target practice, so why don’t we go on a proper hunting patrol?” _And maybe we can continue with this ‘prepping for knighthood’ thing. No matter what Samn says, I know that Brakken’s too close to being a real knight to be treated like a squire on his first day out of the castle._ “And how about you lead it?”

“Wow, Brakken, you’re going to be the first squire ever to lead a hunting patrol!” Briatte teases, elbowing her brother. He rolls his eyes at her but he’s smiling.

“Okay! Uh, how do I lead a hunting patrol?”

“I’ll teach you,” I promise. “Let me go get Blitz and then we’ll head out.”

I pass Samn, who’s leading Dune back to the squires, on my way and try to shoot her an apologetic look. She nods. I pull free the iron latch on the door to the stall and lead Blitz out onto the pavilion. Samn and Briatte are already on their horses and heading for the break in the leaves.

“Follow them,” I tell Brakken, and he sets off toward the enchanted patch of open air.

Once we’ve made it to the forest floor and Samn and Briatte leave, taking the beaten path toward the training area, Brakken turns to me, looking a little anxious but determined.

“So you’ve been on loads of hunting patrols before,” I begin, “but you don’t really know what it’s like to lead one. Let’s say I’m the captain of the guard and I want you to lead a hunting patrol. I might tell you where to go if we had a report of bountiful hunts in certain parts of the forest, but more often than not, I’ll just say you can pick where to go.”

Brakken nods. “Are you my entire patrol?”

I laugh. “I guess so; maybe sometime we can try with more knights, although I’m sure Sir Teyl and Sir Styrp wouldn’t like to be ordered around by you.”

“I’d like to order them around, though,” Brakken replies with a glint in his eyes.

I’m happy to hear him say it. I don’t usually see this side of Brakken; his biggest weakness is probably the way he balks at leadership, but now that most of his guiding forces are dead or _occupied_ , I think he’s going to have to learn it.

“Be that as it may, for now it’s just me. So the captain of the guard has told you that you can hunt anywhere on the territory and he wants you back by noon.” I tell him. When he waits for further instruction, I sigh internally. _There it is._ “So… where are you going to hunt?”

“Oh! I… I don’t know.”

Resisting the urge to face-palm, I prompt him a little. “Well, what kind of hunting do you like? Deep undergrowth? Fields? Far from villages or closer to them?”  
Brakken falters. “Er… maybe somewhere with ferns? You know, so I can play to my strengths?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s a great start!” I think my enthusiastic response throws him off a little, but he nods, thinking.

“How about by the outer border? The deciduous forests always have more bracken growing around the base of trees.” As he speaks, I can see him gaining confidence in his words. “Yeah, we’ll go there. Uh—if it’s okay with you.”

_So close._ I stifle a sigh. “Not up to me, Brakken, remember. You’re leading the patrol!”

“Um… okay, that’s where we’ll go.” He bobs his head like he’s stamping the order with Thundria’s seal. “Let’s go.”

_That’s progress!_ We head off together toward the border with the gods’ mansions and the Creeping Corruption. There’s plenty of forest to hunt in between the castle and the gods, though, and I doubt Brakken’s going to take us that far; there’s hardly anything to catch in the forests that close to the Creeping Corruption.

Thinking of the Creeping Corruption puts my mind on Clowd again, and since it seems like Brakken’s absorbed with charting our path and checking the Trace, I meditate a little on my nephew and his connection to the spikes of god-magic that have poisoned the edge of our territory. _Could he really remove the corruption?_

He’s almost of age to be a squire and I’m wondering if the queen is going to give him to me to train. Which I’m… more than a little worried about; everything about him tells me he’s going to be a real handful to mentor. But that way I can keep an eye on him and make sure the rest of the court doesn’t find out about him. Or at least that I can keep a handle on how the story gets out.

_If he really could slow the spread of corruption, his position at court would be secure._ I saw what he did to Cindra’s knee, and then again with that deer he killed using it. _He can create and destroy it._

But the forearm-sized spikes that he sucked out of the doe were one thing; the enormous, jutting pillars that form a thick cluster of glassy god-magic are another thing entirely. And I don’t know what kind of effect dealing with corruption has on Clowd; is it hurting him? He’s half-human—humans and their life-force are at complete odds with gods and god-magic, or so Sir Cawle taught me. I don’t doubt that his lessons were influenced by how much he wanted to stamp out the nonexistent loyalty to the gods that I still harboured, but nothing that anyone else has ever said has contradicted it.

Would asking Clowd to try to absorb the Creeping Corruption hurt him? Or _kill_ him? Or somehow activate more of his god-half? That’s the problem with corruption and the gods; the kingdoms are so sure that the gods are these indomitable forces of nature and that their magic is inherently evil that no one’s ever tried to study them or understand why they do what they do.

Is the lost territory really worth so much that I’d be willing to gamble with Clowd’s life like that? I can’t help thinking of what the corruption did to Cindra. Sure, Clowd will certainly have a different effect on it since he’s half-god, but I can’t help being scared for him. If the court knows that he can remove corruption, I can certainly think of a few of them who wouldn’t care about the damage it does to Clowd so long as they get a few acres of land back from the gods.

“Fiyr? Did you hear what I said?”

I snap out of my thoughts and blink, realizing Blitz and Brownie have brought us near the Great Sycamore. “No, sorry Brakken, what was that?”

“I said, why don’t we split up to hunt?” he repeats. “Most of what’s around here is smaller stuff, right?”

I nod. “That’s right. Good plan; we can meet back here in—I mean, you’re leading the patrol, so how long should we hunt for?”

“Oh right, I guess I am. Um… let’s say, about two hours,” he offers and when I raise my eyebrows at his uncertain tone, he repeats. “Two hours. That should be enough.”

“Sounds good! Watch out for the phoenix,” I joke, and we split to begin our hunts.

I unsling my bow, checking the Trace as Blitz ambles through the forest. I don’t catch much for a few minutes, then finally the faint trace of a rabbit drifts my way.

_Rabbit stew…_ My stomach rumbles.

As I track it through the forest, I realize I’ve doubled back and I’m now following Brakken’s trace too. _Oops. Well, I can see if he’s had any more luck than me._

The trace strengthens and I crest a small hill, only to see Brakken at the base of it with the rabbit in hand. He spots me and laughs.

“Sorry about that,” Brakken says. “Didn’t mean to steal your catch.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, it’ll end up in my belly one way or another,” I promise him. “Let’s… uh, do you sense that?”

I focus on the Trace, my stomach sinking.

“Is that…” Brakken’s nervous voice is cut off by an earth-shaking roar.

_Fuck me_. The trees seem to shiver as the blast of sound crashes over us, then fades.

“A dragon. Okay, Brakken, we need to…”

I didn’t think our situation could get worse. I was wrong. One thing about Clowd’s unique heritage is that it’s given him an unmistakable trace.

And I sense that trace overlapping with that of an enormous, furious dragon.

“Shit!” I hiss. Brakken’s eyes widen. “Clowd—Clowd’s over there. Okay, we’re going to need to get him to safety. You know how to fight, keep your head on straight and listen when I tell you to run if it gets to that point. I need you to grab Clowd; I’ll deal with the dragon.”

He nods, terror lurking behind his determined expression.

I dig my heels into Blitz’s sides and with a whinny, she leaps forward, straight into the undergrowth where the dragon’s trace of coal and white-hot anger is coming from.

We burst into a big clearing, lined with birch trees that have been lit on fire by the enormous monster across the grass from me.

A red wyvern with two jagged claws dug into the low branches of the tree where it’s perched opens its cavernous jaws to hiss at me, a snake-like pink tongue darting out from between rows of needle-like teeth. Its head darts from side to side, weaving to let its coal-black eyes get a better look at me.

I’m not so much focused on the dragon, though, as I am the barely visible head of a boy in the bushes to my left.

“Brakken, there!” I shout, but he’s already on it, spurring Brownie toward where Clowd’s hair is just visible despite the horse’s protest at riding into a burning bush. Blitz is similarly beginning to rebel against my orders to stay put.

_The fire is spooking them._ I concentrate, ignoring the wyvern for a precious few moments, and shift to the Trace to reach out and take a hold of the fire. There’s something different, something wrong… it’s dragon-fire. _Stupid!_ But Blitz and Brownie are going to leave Clowd to die if I don’t do something.

So even as the dragon-fire sears my mind I reach into its depths and try to snuff it out like I would any other fire. Rather than feeling the trace of fire disappear to leave behind the charred sense of burnt plants, I hear a voice.

_Little soft-skin wants to extinguish?_ It’s a low growl; inhuman, and I’m chilled. _Is that the dragon?_

Nevertheless, I push harder against the dragon-fire. _Yeah, I do. I want to turn you into ash._

_Little soft-skin, stretching beyond his capabilities._

When I drop out of the Trace, I can see that the fire’s died down a little, but not much. The dragon, though, is looking at me with something approximating curiosity. I check its trace; the fury that characterizes the traces of all dragons has also lessened a little. I look to Brakken; he’s got Clowd on Brownie and he’s just mounting her again too.

_Just distract it for another minute._

I dismount Blitz and take a step into the clearing, hand on the pommel of _Fireheart_. The dragon is still, staring at me as if it’s waiting for me to make a move. This goes against everything I know about fighting dragons and I don’t know what I’m doing, but I have to buy Brakken time to get Clowd to safety.

_Little soft-skin wants to come closer._

I freeze. _Well, if it wants me to come closer, then it’s probably a bad idea._ I draw _Fireheart._

_No, no, little soft-skin has no need for a biting stick._

I tighten my grip on _Fireheart._

_Just leave us alone, you big lizard, and I’ll put it away._

_Little soft-skin drives a hard bargain._

I take another step forward and bring fire out of the air to hover in my off hand. _Let’s find out if dragons can burn._

The wyvern finally begins to move, slowly, and straightens up, slowly beginning to spread its leathery wings. I hold my breath. _Is it going to leave?_

_Little soft-skin can keep his heir. Mreksrkhae will take his payment._

The last pronouncement by the voice makes my heart seize with fear, but I don’t have time to react before the wyvern crouches and leaps off the tree, wings spreading to block out the sun and catch the air. Its spade-shaped tail shoots out as it takes off and—

“Brakken, look ou—” I scream but it’s too late. Brakken, leading Brownie out of the burning bushes, turns just in time to see the tail whip toward him.

It catches him across the shoulder and he’s ripped off his feet, thrown like a piece of driftwood in a storm, and he flies back through the undergrowth, out of sight. I only hear a thud as he hits something. He doesn’t scream.

I feel like I’ve been dunked in ice-water. _No!_

At the edge of my senses, I can hear the beating of massive wings as the wyvern takes off and flies away over the trees, but I’m completely focused on where Brakken vanished from sight. Brownie, freed from Brakken’s control, dashes out of the bushes to safety and joins Blitz over the hill, away from the fire.

I sheathe _Fireheart_ and run on foot into the burning trees, feeling the heat lick at my uniform. _Can’t burn me. The dragon’s gone. I have to find Brakken._

He didn’t get thrown too far, thank the Starlaxi. I find him slumped underneath a birch tree, curled over his stomach on his right side.

“Brakken? Brakken, blessed Starlaxi, are you okay?!” I gasp, crouching next to him and reaching out to touch him carefully.

He’s unresponsive but I’m relieved to see his eyes are closed, not staring ahead like he would if he’d really died. I gently place my forefingers on his neck, and feel a steady pulse. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

He’s still unconscious, though, so I wedge my arm under his torso and lift him off the ground. Brakken groans and I freeze. _Is he awake?_ But his eyes stay closed and I lift him off ground, slinging him over my shoulder and hanging onto his legs with my arms. Brakken’s a skinny kid, but he’s still too heavy for me to just cart around like a sack of potatoes, so I have to steady myself against the trees so I can stagger in the direction of Blitz and Brownie.

When I reach the horses, I can’t help a nervous glance back toward the smoldering undergrowth. _I need to deal with that before a full-blown forest fire starts._ I lift Brakken over Brownie’s side, grunting with the exertion. Clowd watches me silently with big eyes and I shoot him a look that says _I’ll deal with you in a minute_. After ensuring Brakken’s secure on the saddle, I turn back and walk into the still-ablaze clearing.

Now that the dragon’s gone, the fire’s lost some of its fury in the Trace, but it’s still not exactly normal fire. I switch to the Trace and spread my arms, trying to suck the heat into myself. The familiar warmth in my chest swells as my life-force spreads through my body to save me from being burned, but… it keeps getting hotter. I frown, reaching for the fire.

_Ow!_

Pain lances through my fingertips as the licking flames make contact with my hand. I’ve never felt the pain before—the only thing I can think to compare it to is when the lye water that Graie made with his ashes and water hurt our hands.

_Did I just get burned?_ I stare at my reddening hand, backpedalling away from the fire. Panic sets in. _I’ve never been burned before. Dragon-fire really is different._

Thankfully, when I look up at the burning trees again, it seems as though it’s dying down rather than spreading further. _Blessed Starlaxi, it’d be useful to be a water elementalist right now. Or sand._

It occurs to me suddenly that Clowd might’ve been killed if I hadn’t made the decision to take Brakken on a hunting mission. Or if Brakken hadn’t wanted to hunt is this part of the forest. A cold chill runs down my spine and I leave the clearing, my heart beating fast.

_What the fuck was he doing out here anyway?!_ Now that the adrenaline of the confrontation with the dragon and the fear over the potential forest fire have both subsided, irritation and worry over Clowd begin to take over.

I reach the horses and mount Blitz, then tie the lead of Brownie to one of the stirrups on my saddle. I look back at Clowd. “Clowd, I need you to hold on tight, okay? We’re going to go slowly, but if you start slipping off or Brakken starts falling, tell me right away and I’ll make sure you don’t—what’s wrong?”

He’s staring at me with a quivering lower lip and I suddenly realize that my nephew’s been hiding from a dragon, saw a boy get thrown through trees like a doll, been stuck in burning trees, and is now sitting right next to that same unconscious boy, not knowing if he’s alive or not. And I haven’t asked if he’s okay.

“Brakken’s okay,” I tell him quickly, wheeling Blitz around to come close to Clowd. “The dragon’s gone, the fire’s gone, and we’re going to take Brakken back to the castle for healing. He’s going to be fine, you hear me?”

“Are you angry I left?” he whispers. “I just wanted to—”

“Let’s talk about that later,” I interrupt. _The last thing he needs right now is to be chewed out for breaking rules. He probably blames himself for Brakken getting hurt._ “Just remember what I said, okay? We’re gonna head back to the castle. Tell me if you or Brakken is slipping.”

He nods tearfully.

I shoot one last concerned look his way, praying to the Starlaxi that nothing bad happens on our way back to the castle. _Maybe Samn’s sympathy for me after what happened today will let me avoid an argument._ What a stupid thing to be worried about right now. _Graie’s going to flip. Well, next time_ he _can save his squire from an angry wyvern._


	8. Chapter 7 - Cindra

Chapter 7 - Cindra

Lady Fennen’s just left the healer’s wing with the blinded ex-king of Shodawa to take him outside to get some fresh air when Fiyr walks in with my brother hanging on to him for support.

“Blessed Starlaxi, what happened to you two?” I demand, jumping to my feet from where I’ve been sitting at Lady Fennen’s desk.

Fiyr eases Brakken onto a cot then looks back at me with an almost regretful expression. “Dragon attack.”

I gape. “What?”

Brakken nods, wincing as he rubs his shoulder.

_And Lady Fennen just left._ At least Brakken doesn’t look like he’s about to keel over dead, but I’m still shaken. _What if he’d been hurt worse? I wouldn’t know what to do._ Then again, that’s not exactly true. I’m already on my feet, hurrying to the cot to check Brakken over.

“How’s your day been so far?” he asks, half-laughing then catching his breath like it hurts.

“What happened?” I ask Fiyr, ignoring Brakken.

“Clowd was out in the forest somehow,” he admits, crossing his arms. “We traced the dragon and I tried to draw its attention while Brakken got Clowd out of harm’s way. It hit Brakken with its tail when it took off to leave and he was thrown off Brownie. I think he hit a tree or something; he was unconscious when I found him but he woke up on the way back here.”

_Blunt impact. What did Lady Fennen tell me about those? Possible broken neck or back in the worst case, but if he’s been moving and he hasn’t been paralysed or killed, then it’s not that. Next worst; brain damage or a concussion._

I turn back to Brakken and he smiles at me reassuringly but I ignore him again, and take his head between my hands, tilting it to the left to look into his ears and see if he’s bleeding. _No bleeding from any openings on the face. No dark bruising under his eyes._

“Has he thrown up?” I direct my question to Fiyr even as Brakken keeps trying to get my attention.

“I’m fine, Cindra, seriously.”

“No, why?” Fiyr asks.

“Brakken, are you sleepy? What is the queen’s name?” I grill him, the pressure behind my eyes not letting up. _He could still be badly hurt on the inside._ Lady Fennen warned me against getting complacent with people who looked like they were fine. Claude Plaite, a knight she’d known in Shodawa, had come back after a battle with no wounds, but he’d seemed disoriented and he had a persistent nosebleed. He’d died in his sleep four hours later.

_We’re not repeating history._

“I’m not sleepy, and the queen’s name is Bluelianna Star. What are you talking about?” my brother demands, finally starting to look concerned at my questioning.

“I’m making sure you don’t have brain damage,” I snap. “How are your shoulders?”

“My left one really hurts and I can’t move it,” Brakken informs me, pointing to it with his good hand. “It feels really weird. Like the bone’s in the wrong place.”

“Can you unlace your undershirt so I can look at it?” I ask.

He complies and I carefully hook my finger around the layers of cloth that make up his tunic and undershirt, then pull it back to uncover his collarbone and shoulder. _Yeah, that’s definitely dislocated._ I try not to pull a face at the appearance of a flat bone pulling the skin in the wrong direction. _I’m not trained for this._

“Okay. You’ve got a dislocated shoulder. It’s not gonna get any worse if you just sit still until Lady Fennen is back to set it, okay?” I tell him, releasing his shirt. “Did you get hurt in any other way? Maybe a cut from a branch or something?”

Brakken lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “No, I don’t think so. Feels like I have a tree’s worth of splinters in my back though. Will the dislocated shoulder leave a scar?”

“Probably not, unless Lady Fennen does something _really_ wrong while setting it,” I remark, drawing away from Brakken even when I want to jump on him and smother him to death for putting himself in harm’s way.

“Aw, too bad. It would be cool to have a scar from a dragon, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think,” I snap.

Fiyr frowns at my sudden change in demeanor and Brakken’s brows draw together too. “Hey, Cindra, I didn’t mean…”

I squeeze my hands into fists and then let them go with a sigh. “I know. I—sorry. I just… you could’ve died, you know that? _Seriously!_ A Starlaxi-damned _dragon_ , Brakken! Nine times out of ten, you wouldn’t have been walking away from that fight!”

The way he’s looking at me like I’m going into hysterics for no reason only further incenses me and I grip my staff tighter. His eyes flicker to it, then down to my leg and his eyes widen slightly.

“You… you’re right. I’m sorry, I—I wasn’t thinking,” he mumbles. “Thanks for checking me over.”

“Just wait there for Lady Fennen,” I tell him tightly and turn to Fiyr pointedly. “What about Clowd? Is he out of harm’s way?”

He nods. “Yeah, he was hiding the bushes. I think Lady Faise is punishing him for leaving the castle without supervision or permission right now.”

I look him over. “And you? Did you get hurt?”

“Not—uh, not really,” Fiyr says and when I raise an eyebrow, he stretches out his left hand, palm up. There’s a strip of red skin that looks like it was burned, but that’s not possible—one of the first things Fiyr taught me when we were training was that heat-based-elementalists can’t be burned.

“A bruise? What is that?”

He shakes his head. “I think it’s a burn.”

“What? How?”

“Dragon-fire apparently doesn’t work the same way as regular fire,” Fiyr tells me and I catch my breath.

“Well, then I’m impressed you’ve still got a hand.”

He shrugs. “My life-force protected me in some way, obviously, but I don’t think it could repel it entirely. I don’t know; I’ve never seen a dragon before in the flesh. Or in the scales.”

“We’ve got some burn ointment on the shelf over there; it’s labelled. Rub some on your hand, you should be fine by tomorrow,” I advise, then add as an afterthought, “So long as dragon-fire burns behave the same as regular burns.” _Oh no, but what if Lady Fennen has experiences with burns from dragons and knows that there’s some special thing you’re supposed to do for them? Maybe we should wait until she gets back_. “On second thought, just run it under cold water and ask Lady Fennen about it when she gets back.”

Fiyr cocks his head, curious at my sudden change in direction. “Oh, okay?”

“I don’t know if the burn will act the same way as a normal burn,” I confess. “Lady Fennen hasn’t told me anything about dragon-fire burns. I don’t want to make it worse and I think it’ll be fine if you leave it for a bit.”

He raises an eyebrow, impressed. “She’s clearly told you a lot of other stuff though. It’s pretty cool that you know all this stuff now.”

A flush creeps up my neck but I try to will it away. “Yeah, well, you should be glad I’m saving your sorry asses,” I retort, elbowing Brakken. “And I know you said Clowd was okay, but I want to go check on him anyway.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Fiyr agrees. “He seemed pretty shaken.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” I comment, then give my brother a warning look. “Don’t move around until Lady Fennen gets a chance to set your shoulder. You could make it worse.”

“Right, right, I get it.” He raises his good arm in surrender. “Thanks for the help, oh great and powerful healer.”

I snort but I can’t deny that it’s pretty empowering to be the only person who knows what’s going on, even though it was a bit scary to see Brakken come in looking like he’d been thrown into a tree and not knowing if he was okay. _He shouldn’t be so reckless._ Although I guess if I hadn’t been injured and we’d been facing a dragon together, I would have come out much worse. _But I_ was _injured, and I know that even if you’re young or it’s unfair, you don’t get a pass on being crippled or worse._ Maybe that’s why Brakken stopped arguing when he remembered what happened to my leg.

At the thought, it gives a dull ache as I hobble out of the healer’s wing and into the throne room to find Clowd. _Stupid thing._

I spot Clowd’s white hair through the crowd of Thundrians milling around in their day-to-day routine and I squeeze between Sir Wynnd and Lady Peilte with a quick apology, then hobble at top speed toward Clowd.

“Clowd! Clowd, can I talk to you?” I call.

He turns and I see that he’s frowning. _Well, better than traumatized?_ “What do you want?”

I huff at his tone. “I just want to check up on you—dragon attacks are scary and I want to make sure you’re okay.”

He scowls. “I’m not afraid.”

“I don’t mean… er, what are you up to?” _Maybe if I distract him it’ll be easier to evaluate his mental state._

“Sir Cawle says I have to take care of the elders.” His scowl is still fixed firmly in place.

“Because you left the castle without permission?” I guess, and he nods.

“I just wanted to go for a walk!” he exclaims. “I’m so _bored_ ; there’s nothing to do.”

“Well, the elders always need some help,” I suggest. “C’mon, I’ll help you. Maybe if we ask nicely, they’ll tell us a story.”

He brightens a little at that and I pat myself on the back for the quick thinking. _What kid doesn’t love a story? He seems fine, too, so that’s good. I should keep an eye on him anyway, though._ I can’t stop thinking about the Claude Plaite story. _Same name-base too. I’m pretty sure Sir Plaite would have been named for his life-force, though, and not because his half-god heritage made his hair white despite him not being affected by the fertility gift. That’s a… pretty unique situation to Clowd._

We head into the hallway that leads to the elders’ wing and I note how Clowd needs to duck a little to make it through the doorway. He’s gotten really tall; I never really noticed because I’m short and most of everyone’s taller than me, but Clowd in particular… _Well, that makes sense. Gods are gigantic. Hopefully he doesn’t get quite that big, though, or else the other kingdoms are going to start raising eyebrows when he goes to Gatherings._ Will he be bigger than King Crukkedaro? _That’s_ the biggest man I’ve ever seen; he must be at least six and half feet tall with shoulders to match.

“Stupid doorway,” Clowd grumbles.

“If only you had my leg,” I joke. “I still haven’t found a use for what it does, but maybe it would help you with doorways.

He turns, confused. We pause in the hallway and I remember that I haven’t shown anyone but Brakken my new ability granted by my twisted leg. _‘Ability’ would imply it can do something though..._

“What?” he asks.

“Watch.” I lift my bad leg and stomp, heel first. The now-familiar spark of discomfort shoots up my leg as my knee buckles and I drop to the floor.

“Blessed Starlaxi!” Clowd exclaims, lurching forward as he tries to grab me before I hit the floor, but I’ve already braced myself against the stone and I’m getting up again. “How’d you do that?”

“The bone healed funny,” I explain. “Makes it hard to walk, but now I have a secret power.”

“How’d you find out?” he asks.

I laugh. “I got mad about something and I stomped with my bad leg without thinking, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor.”

“It’s so fast,” he remarks, still amazed. “Yeah, that would be really useful for me.”

“Well, if we ever discover how to give other people our injuries, I’ll let you know.” _Like Lady Fennen’s life-force._ A chill runs over me when I remember the first time I realized Lady Fennen was taking pain out of my leg and giving it to herself to ease my pain. I’ve still been too scared to bring it up. _But Clowd can’t do that and as far as I know, Lady Fennen can only transfer injuries from other people to herself._ “Come on, let’s go help the elders.”

Clowd nods, still staring at my bad leg like it’s going to perform another magic trick. _Child successfully distracted. Now, let’s see if his improved mood lasts through doing chores._

When we walk into the elders’ wing, I see that the elders are all sitting in their common room. Lady Tayel is writing something in a journal at a desk, Sir Tyle is napping with his feet up on their little round table, and Lady Eie is arguing fiercely with Sir Eyre.

“Er, pardon us, we’re here to do some laundry for you,” I announce to them. Lady Eie and Sir Eyre ignore me, but Lady Tayel closes her book and stands, tucking the chair under the desk neatly.

“Oh! Wonderful, thank you.” Her warm smile makes me feel a little more comfortable in the room that smells faintly of mothballs despite Wonn and Samal’s arguing. I used to spend a lot of time in here when I was little… it’s been a while, though. I smile back at Lady Tayel. “Here, I’ll bring you to our rooms.”

Clowd and I trail after the older woman as she heads into the room adjacent to their common room. It’s a tidy room not too dissimilar to a squire’s nook, but with more space and a knitting basket next to the dresser. _Eesh. I hope I die tragically young or I’d get bored to the Blacklands as an elder,_ I think. Lady Tayel doesn’t seem terribly depressed, though; maybe my priorities will change. _Can’t imagine I’d ever enjoy being holed up in here though._

“You strip the beds,” I suggest to Clowd. “I’ll fetch fresh sheets. Make a big pile of them in the hall and then we’ll take them all out and wash them at the pump.”

“A pile on the floor?” He’s incredulous. I laugh.

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re gonna take them out to wash them, so who cares if they get a little dirty in the meanwhile?”

He still looks skeptical, but nonetheless begins peeling back the covers and sheets on the feather-stuffed mattress. I leave to go find the linen closet. It’s up the stairs in one of the main hallways of the knight’s wing and as I’m crossing the throne room toward the stairs, I spot Lady Fennen returning with Braukkin.

_I should let her know about Fiyr and Brakken,_ I think, redirecting my course to intercept her as she heads for the healer’s wing. _And ask about dragon-fire._

“Lady Fennen! Lady Fennen!”

She glances my way with an exasperated look. “What, girl?”

“Brakken and Sir Harte were out—they fought a dragon,” I explain, my staff clicking on the stone as I hurry over. “Sir Harte got a burn from it. I didn’t really know what to do—also, Brakken has a dislocated shoulder. Uh, I think.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Well, it seems I can’t leave for a moment. Right. I’ll check them over.”

“Are you supposed to do something... _weird_ for dragon-fire burns?” I blurt. “That is—do you treat them the same way as you do a normal burn?”

“No,” the old healer answers.

“Whew,” I sigh. “What _do_ you do for them?”

Lady Fennen grimaces. “There’s been no found treatment yet. They go away on their own in a few weeks, maybe a month; depends on the severity.”

_No treatment?_ “Really?”

“Do you think I’m lying?” She snorts. “The first thing a novitiate needs to learn is that there are going to be times when the patient’s health is out of your hands. You leave it to time or the Starlaxi.”

I frown. “But there’s usually _something_ you can do, right?”

“Sometimes the only thing is to make them comfortable for their journey to the Starlaxi,” Lady Fennen rasps. Her hazel eyes glitter with a memory that I’m not privy to, then she shakes it off. “Well, thank you for letting me know. I’ll check them over and put Brakken’s shoulder back in place.”

I’m a little shaken by the sudden turn our conversation took and I watch her for a moment as she walks off to the healer’s wing, Braukkin limping after her. _What has she seen?_ I’m sure things get bloodier at Shodawa, but I’ve never thought about the work and pain it means for their healer. _I guess Med Naos is gonna be up to his drippy nose in patients the next time their king decides to start trouble._

Trying to shake off the thoughts as easily as Lady Fennen seemed to, I hurry up the stairs of the knight’s wing and find the closet with the fresh sheets. It’s more of a storage room, really. I load up my arms with fresh white sheets and embroidered blankets—some of which doubtlessly were made by the people who will be sleeping under them—and turn to head back to the elder’s wing.

As I make the walk back, trying to peer over my armful of linens to avoid crashing into anyone, I notice Sir Cawle. _It was him._ I press down the unfamiliar surge of anger. _Whoa. Where did that come from?_ But I know exactly where it came from. _It was him,_ my thought repeat. I can’t stop my eyes from narrowing as I stop in my tracks to watch as the captain of the guard crosses the throne room and slips out the doors. He’s wearing a travelling cloak but no one’s with him; the throne room’s actually almost empty—he must have just sent out a patrol. _Then where’s he going?_

A week ago, I would’ve thought nothing of it, but knowing what I know now, I can’t help my suspicions. _What could he be up to?_ But he’s already out the doors. _I need to deal with the laundry first._

I bring the fresh sheets to the elder’s wing and find Clowd enthusiastically ripping the sheets off of the beds of the elders. Even that can’t get my mind off Sir Cawle, though. _What if he’s setting up some kind of trap for the queen again?_

_I should stay out of it,_ I think. _Given what happened last time I got mixed up in Sir Cawle’s plans._ I tighten my grip on my staff. _But now I know what’s going on. I can stay out of his way but still find out what’s going on. What if he tried to hurt the queen and I could’ve done something to stop it?_ If I’d had a chance to stop a death and I failed… I shiver. _Could I follow him?_

“Clowd, can you handle the rest of the laundry?” I ask. “Put on some over-clothes, take the sheets out to the pump and wash them with the soap that’s there and then hang it up to dry in the kitchens—ask Fiyr to show you his super-speedy-drying technique.”

“But you have fiery life-force too, can’t you help me?” he complains.

I shake my head. “Sorry kid, I need to go… deal with something. I’m sure Fiyr’s up for helping you.”

He frowns.

“I’ll be back soon,” I assure him, even though I have no idea if it’s true. “Do the laundry quickly and maybe you can come help me get more stationery for Lady Fennen.”

“Supply run?” He groans. “Boring.”

I snort. “Well, you’re going to hate being a knight. It’s not all dragon fighting and glorious questing. In fact, _most_ of it isn’t.”

He groans again and I leave him with the laundry. _He should be grateful I helped him at all,_ I think, only half-serious. _It was his punishment. I wasn’t the one who almost jumped in front of a dragon._ Although it does make me question the judgement in punishing a little kid who might’ve been traumatized before checking to make sure he’s okay. _Priorities, people._ Until I started hanging around Lady Fennen, I never realized just how fragile people are; bodies and minds both.

_We have to take care of ourselves._ As I cross the throne room, the rapping of my staff against the stone catches the attention of my mother, who’s ‘guarding the door’ by sitting in a chair next to it and reading her book. _Is she reading a book of battle tactics?_

“Where are you off to, Cindra?” she greets me.

“Er—Lady Fennen needs stationery,” I lie. “Just gonna pop out to… Cumulus.”

She nods and I wave to her with a guilty smile as I slip out the doors. _That was a plausible lie, right? She believed me?_ At least she doesn’t protest when I leave the castle anymore. After the accident, there were a couple years… I sigh. _Well, my other leg’s still fine. Let’s see if Sir Cawle can almost kill me again._

I head toward the squire’s stables and spot Sir Teyl with Sewif walking back. Sir Teyl’s got something in his hand, holding it over his head, that Sewif keeps jumping at him to try to grab and they’re both laughing. _Weird. Put two annoying people together and I thought they’d drive each other crazy. Maybe the queen had some kind of intuition when she matched them up._

They ignore me as I pass them and I lead Ashes out of her stall. _Now, to track the trace of Sir Cawle…_ I slip into the Trace and concentrate, feeling the waves of life-force imbued in the castle and stables ripple over me, but it’s pretty easy to block them out when they’re so familiar. I wade through the trace of each life-force of the different members of the kingdoms; the Trace was never my strong suit and I can’t even pick out the differences in the traces of elementalists from alchemists from summoners, but I’m familiar enough with the court’s different traces that I know which belongs to who.

_That’s… Lady Fyrra, and that’s Sir Strommer, and that… uh, I think that’s Lady Tiall or Lady Peilte._ I concentrate harder. _And that’s Sir Cawle!_ I drop out of the Trace and mount Ashes, tucking my staff against her flank under the strap that I’ve been using to hang onto it while I ride. _Where did he go…?_

I follow it to the break in the leaves and reappear on the forest floor. The forest is oddly quiet, almost as if it’s holding its breath to see if I’ll really follow Sir Cawle in. I can’t see any sign of him but when I return to the Trace, I can feel his trace pretty strongly. Strongly enough to make me confident that I could follow it.

_Do I really wanna get mixed up in this? What if Fiyr’s right? Am I too young? The last time I disobeyed Fiyr and followed Sir Cawle, my leg…_ But things are different now. _If I can save the queen or at least find out what’s going on…_

I snap Ashes’s reins and ride into the forest.


	9. Chapter 8 - Cindra

Chapter 8 - Cindra

I track the trace of Sir Cawle through the snowy forests of Thundria; his path cuts a pretty straight line out toward the outer border, where the mansions and the lawless lands are. Nothing too suspicious, except maybe the fact that he seems to be avoiding main roads. _Like he doesn’t want anyone to see him._ But I think I’m just getting paranoid. _This might still all be innocent. Maybe it’s just a quick supply run that he didn’t want to bother a whole patrol with._

But why not send out Sir Sterrip? He was in his room, last I checked, and Sir Cawle should stay at the castle to direct the patrols when they get back. _Then what’s he up to?_

The sun makes its way across the sky as I follow Sir Cawle’s trace over frozen rivers, through deep underbrush, and around a small lake at one point. My fingers are cold and my back’s getting sore from the repeated rolling movement of Ashes underneath me, and the ache has just crept up to my neck when I reach the border. I can see the wall of the gods’ estates but there’s no sign of Sir Cawle.

_Did he cross the border? Surely not…_ Tentatively, I nudge Ashes over the trace-line, but I don’t get farther than a few hoof-steps before I realize Sir Cawle didn’t cross it. _Then where did he go?_ Ashes and I return to Thundrian territory and I urge her to the right to see if he followed the trace-line. _There it is! But if he went this way…_ His trace is strengthening; he was here recently. A cold chill of fear washes down my back, and I know it’s not from the winter air.

_He wouldn’t really attack me, right? I’m a member of the court!_ But my imagination is already burning up with ways he could cover it up. _He could say I was attacked by mercs and killed. Or I wandered too close to the border and the corruption got me. Or that I just vanished without a trace._

I know that I’m the type to imagine that every little noise in the night is Shodawa coming to slaughter us, but it’s far scarier to realize that I’m not just paranoid this time. There’s real danger. _Okay, let’s stay under the cover of the trees. I can always scream for help._ Sir Cawle’s smart, though; I don’t doubt that he’s probably sent all the patrols toward the heart of the territories and left none to catch him. Or help me. _Okay… calm down, just don’t get too close._

I edge through the trees, tightening my grip on Ashes’s reins and getting ready to put her into a gallop and run for my life, but I see no motion by the border. I check the Trace. _Sir Cawle’s trace ends here… but what’s that?_

It’s an unfamiliar trace; a _group_ of traces, I should say. Some are sweet and faint like villagers’ life-force, but there are others, _bitter_ ones that don’t feel like any life-force type I’ve felt. _Is that what a mercenary’s trace feels like?_ I shiver. _Was Sir Cawle meeting them? Or did they attack him?_ But there’s no sign of a struggle; the branches of the trees stir a little in the wind, but they’re unbroken.

Suddenly, I flinch in my saddle. I think I can hear voices. _Shit! Is that Sir Cawle?_ But the voice is too high… I nudge Ashes a little closer, my heart in my throat. I’m still on the edge of running away, but then I relax when I realize whose voice it is.

_That’s Fiyr!_ But that doesn’t make any sense; why is _he_ by the border? He was in the healer’s wing when I was helping Clowd, so he must have ridden out just before me. _Why? Who’s he talking to?_

I leave the cover of the tree-line and cautiously approach the border. Fiyr’s voice is louder now and I can almost make out what he’s saying, but the only thing in front of me is the wall. Then I look up and I see them. Fiyr’s sitting up on the edge of the wall with his legs hanging over it. There’s a woman next to him, but I’ve never seen her before. A pang of something too close to jealousy rushes through me but the actually smart part of my brain is puzzling it out and then a moment later, presents me with the solution. _That’s his sister, isn’t it? Clowd’s mother?_ She looks so young, but I guess she’s only a couple years older than Fiyr.

_Should I leave them alone?_ But before I can decide as I continue to sidle forward on Ashes, she spots me and leaps off the wall in an incredibly graceful movement. _Didn’t Mom say Fiyr was an acrobat?_ It’s bizarre, seeing evidence of this past life he supposedly had. _He never seemed very bendy. Mostly just tall and stringy. Is his sister some kind of acrobat too?_

“Hello!” she calls out to me, her voice clear and bright as a bell.

Fiyr spots me too before I can run back into the trees and jumps down next to her. I blush. _Caught. Well, she seems nice._ I bring Ashes halfway to the wall and stop, waiting as they come toward me.

“You must be Samn!” Her brown eyes shine in the sunlight as she regards me atop Ashes. “It’s great to finally meet you! Rossy’s told me so much.”

Rossy? _Samn? Oh no._ I glance at Fiyr, who has gone pale, then try to laugh it off.

“Er, no, actually, I’m… I’m Cindra,” I introduce myself, carefully dismounting Ashes and slipping my staff free of the strap to support me.

Her eyes shoot down to the staff and then my leg, like she can see the strange twist of it through my clothes. “Oh! You’re—I’m so sorry! My mistake.”

“No worries,” I answer, offering my hand shake and feeling very grown-up all of a sudden. _Yes, Cindra, only grown-ups say ‘no worries’._

Fiyr finally finds his voice. “Er, yeah, uh—Cindra, meet my sister, Princesca. Prin, this is Cindra. She was my squire until… a few years ago.”

“It’s great to meet you!” She shakes my hand at last. Now that I’m looking at her closely, I can see the resemblance better. Their hair both has a permanently rumpled look to it, although Princesca’s brown and whitish hair manages to look ‘wavy’ rather than ‘I like to try to pull my own hair out by the roots when I’m stressed’ like Fiyr’s. Her eyes are shaped the same, though they’re brown instead of emerald green, and she has a healthy sprinkle of freckles over her nose and cheeks. “I’ve heard lots from Rossy about you, too!”

“Rossy,” I repeat.

“My name before I joined Thundria,” Fiyr interjects.

I blink. “Huh.”

“Why are you out here, Cindra?” he asks. “Did Yllowei send you an errand?”

I shake my head. “Um… I should probably talk to you when you get back to the castle. But I should go. Lady Fennen’s gonna be missing me.”

“Right. I’ll be back soon, too,” Fiyr promises and glances at his sister, then back at me. “We can ride back together if—”

“No, I should really go,” I cut him off. I can’t help feeling awkward around his sister—I know she’s a god-toy and the mother of Clowd. All my preconceptions about her clashes with who I’m seeing in front of me and it makes me really uncomfortable. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Okay, we’ll talk then,” he agrees, although the way his eyes follow me as I give Princesca a quick smile and hurry to mount Ashes again makes me sure he can tell I’m uncomfortable around his sister.

As I give them a stiff wave and then ride away, avoiding Sir Cawle’s trace, my thoughts get stuck on how his sister mistook me for Samn. _Guess he hasn’t brought Lady Schorme to meet the family, yet._ I know they’re meant for each other, though. I might be a bit imaginative, but I’m not dumb. I was never in the running to begin with.

Still stings, though.

When I get back to the castle, I see the queen heading into her private chambers and instinctively, I pursue her and knock on her door. _I should tell her about the strange traces, even if I put off mentioning Sir Cawle until I can tell Fiyr and Sir Sterrip about it._

“Yes, Cindra?” The queen looks up.

I enter self-consciously and sit when she motions me toward the chair across from her desk. I’ve only been in the room a couple times, but I don’t want to gawk so I tear my eyes away from the maps that line the walls and the stacks of paper mounted on bookshelves and every available surface, and recount what I felt in the Trace to her.

She listens without a comment, her expression unreadable. I can’t tell if she knows I’m leaving out part of it, but I forge on, explaining how I followed the trace-line a little ways and then found traces that weren’t exactly villager that I didn’t recognize.

“And then… I came right back,” I tell her.

Queen Bluelianna nods, leaning back a bit in her chair as she absorbs it. “I see. Thank you for coming to me about it. The trace you described leads me to believe that there were some mercenaries or outlanders closer to the border than is preferable; I’ll bring this to Sir Cawle’s attention. He’ll make sure that they don’t—is something wrong?”

At the mention of the name of the captain of the guard, I flinch. _Crap. She’ll tell him I was the one who found it and then he’ll know I was by the border._ “Oh—um, well I don’t think it’s _that_ important. There weren’t that many traces anyway. Probably just some villagers.”

The queen is quick to agree. “Certainly, I don’t think it’s much of a threat, but all the same. To be certain.”

_What if she tells Sir Cawle that it was me?_ I shiver. _If only I was on a patrol—she could just say ‘a patrol found’._ I nod, standing. _Nothing I can do now._

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

She nods and I curtsy, then dash as much as I can out of her chambers with my staff in hand, mind racing. _What do I do? I can’t just tell her_ not _to mention me by name or she’s going to get suspicious. Should she be suspicious? Fiyr said telling her was useless; she won’t believe it._ I twist my hands over each other, cracking my knuckles one by one with my staff in the crook of my arm. _Then what… Could I make it seem like I was on patrol? But how? No, that won’t work. But would it be possible… maybe if I wasn’t the only one who brought it to her attention…_

An idea strikes me when I spot Fiyr walking back in the doors of the castle and I hurry over to him, feeling my leg ache with protest at all the running around I’ve been doing.

“What was it you wanted to talk about?” he asks when I skid to a stop in front of him. “Uh, are you okay? You look worried.”

I glance around the throne room. Sir Cawle’s just leaving the dining hall as I catch sight of him. _We’re too out in the open._

“Can we go to your room?” I whisper to him, trying to act casual.

Fiyr frowns. “Okay? Is this really serious?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute.” We head toward the stairs up to the knight’s wing. I’m doing my best to act normal, whereas Fiyr is staring at me like I’m on fire. When we finally reach his room, he lights the torches with a practiced click of his fingers and shuts the door behind me.

“I need you to tell the queen that you found weird traces around the outer border,” I say immediately.

Fiyr is stunned. “Huh?”

“I saw Sir Cawle acting dodgy, okay?” The words tumble out of me, seeming like they’re grateful to finally be freed. A little bit of the nervous energy eases in my chest. _Fiyr knows now and he can figure it out. In this together._ “So I followed him.”

“You _what?_ ” Fiyr leaps up from where he’s sat on his bed. “You followed him?! But he could have—you could’ve—Cindra, that was dangerous!”

“I know,” I groan. “Just listen, okay? I followed him to the border but by the time I got there, he was gone. So I checked the Trace and I found these weird traces that were _like_ villagers’ but not _exactly_ , and then I saw you and your sister.”

Fiyr frowns, chewing on his lip. “Okay. Why do you want me to tell the queen that I found the traces too?”  
I slap my own face, only realizing in retrospect how dumb it was to rush to the queen and tell her what I found without thinking it through. “I went to the queen.”

“And…?” He’s puzzled as to why I’m still freaking out.

_Good to know we’re both stupid._ “And now she wants to tell Sir Cawle!” I exclaim. “This is a disaster! She’s going to tell him that _I_ found traces on the outer border and then he’s going to arrange a little _accident_ to make sure I don’t find anything else!”

Fiyr blanches. “Oh no.”

“You see the problem?” I press my palms into my eye sockets, cursing my lack of foresight. “So here’s the solution; you tell the queen you found the traces too, and instead of telling Sir Cawle ‘Cindra found traces’ she’ll say ‘Some members of the court reported finding traces’.”

He doesn’t comment on my excellent Bluelianna impression but begins to nod. “Okay. I understand—that’s smart.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. _Quite a bit riding on it._ “Can you go see her now? She’ll think it’s weird if you put it off.”

“Of course.” Fiyr hesitates as he’s about to leave, though. When he looks back at me, my chest starts to ache. _Oh no. I know that look; he’s about to say something sappy._ “And, hey, Cindra, if you ever need to talk… or something… I feel really bad about putting this whole Sir Cawle thing on you.”

I grit my teeth. “You didn’t put it on me. _He_ put it on me when he laid his trap for a queen and caught a squire instead.”

Fiyr looks like he’s going to cry, so I move to leave as well and punch him in the arm lightly as I pass him, standing in the doorway. “You should really make your bed. Routine helps clear the mind.”

“Who told you that?” He’s sniffling. Sappy idiot.

“Who do you think?” I snort. Lady Fennen probably doesn’t even mess up her blankets getting into or out of bed. I imagine she sleeps stiff like a corpse. “Go talk to the queen.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” he laughs, raising his hands in surrender. There’s still a tear in the corner of one of his eyes but he leaves the room without any more sentimentality. _He cries so easily,_ I think, smiling as I watch him jog down the hall and back down the stairs.

When he’s gone and I’m left standing in his room, looking at his messy bed and the half-sewn undershirt left on his dresser, the torch still burning… Remembering what he said, I can’t help feeling like it _is_ unfair. _Fuck’s sake, at least let me concentrate on the useless crush on someone who looks at me like I’m his little sister without a life-threatening plot to destroy my kingdom coming in to ruin everything._

I wince, remembering the danger we’re in. _But Fiyr’s gonna fix it. Sir Cawle won’t hurt me. He’ll bide his time, and then kill us all._ And on that cheery note, I’d better make sure Clowd finished the laundry for the elders.

…

I manage to make it to near-adulthood without getting any smarter or finding any way to stave off Thundria’s destruction at the hands of Sir Cawle. The traces at the border aren’t found again and for all I know, Sir Cawle’s plans have become _very_ low-key, because he hasn’t made any moves on the queen or anyone else. Faern and Clowd are growing fast, Clowd especially, and I’m starting to wonder when they’ll be made squires.

Brakken’s almost of age to be a knight; Lady Fennen continues to teach me, but we’ve settled into a comfortable routine of not interrogating what we’re actually doing. She hasn’t brought up me being her proper novitiate, and I’m a little nervous she’ll say no or say that a real healer would need to be uninjured and that I won’t be able to help people with my leg the way it is. Briatte and Thorrin are growing, too, in experience, and in Thorrin’s case, about four feet overnight it seems like.

I’m sulking about my height in the nursery with Clowd, at the moment. Sarol, Rhane, and Siot are running around on their chubby little legs, playing some kind of invasion game with fake swords as Clowd and I rummage around in the backrooms, peeling the sheets off the ladies’ beds and the children’s bassinets. Clowd holds up a damp sheet and makes a face. I laugh.

As we make a pile of dirty linens in the hallway, I’m struck with the memory of when we did them a year and a half ago for the elders. _Still got that trick knee,_ I think as I carry an armful of bedding out into the hall.

“Clowd, I think that’s the last of it!” I call to him as he heads back into the nursery to get more.

“Oh, good,” he sighs, ducking back out of the nursery. The doorway isn’t particularly low, but Clowd has really sprouted; he’s a bit taller than Fiyr now and quite a bit bulkier. I haven’t been blind to the way certain members of the court have gotten a little warier around him. _Well, if it makes them treat him like a person, that’s all the better._

I’ve never been able to feel nervous around Clowd, though. He saved my life when he was a baby, so who knows what _miracles_ he’ll perform as a squire? In between miracles though, he’s alright to just talk to. He’s certainly a bit conceited, and _plenty_ sarcastic, but he has a dry wit and a way of seeing the world that’s always a bit unexpected.

“Can you take this stuff out?” I ask.

He purses his lips. “Yeah, okay. Why? What important business do you have?”

“Lady Fennen and I are gonna check out a new apothecary that just opened in the village of the Sun Rocks and see if we can make some kind of deal for remedies,” I explain. I’m actually kind of excited; usually Lady Fennen wouldn’t invite me on this kind of serious business. Said something about me being too much like a rabid chipmunk to bring in public.

Clowd gives a heavy sigh. “Oh, fine. Go.” He shoos me and I laugh, shooting him an apologetic look as he picks up the damp sheets. _Nice. Glad to get out of that._

I meet Lady Fennen by the healer’s wing; she’s in her full healer regalia to suitably impress the new apothecary owner, while I didn’t think to change out of my squire’s uniform. I glance down at it and then back at her, questioning, but she waves her hand, dismissing it.

“Ready?” she asks. I nod and she crosses the throne room, her staff in hand. I follow suit. _Guess I’ve already got the healer’s staff part down pat. I dunno if I’ll ever be able to be serious and somber, though._ Maybe if someone gets badly injured. Then again, panic just brings out my short fuse. _Not exactly the calm voice of reason…_ As if I needed any more evidence that I’m not healer material.

We ride out toward the village of the Sun Rocks and Lady Fennen idly quizzes me on remedies for common illnesses.

“The grip?”

“Redroot.”

“Amortal poisoning?”

“No cure.”

“Good. Something’s sunk it,” she rasps, a teasing gleam in her eyes. It doesn’t come out often, but it makes me happy to see her happy. Better than the days when she just stares out the window like she’s gone catatonic.

“Well, I—” I begin, then pause as we reach the lip of the dry gorge where trade routes run from the village of the Sun Rocks to near the outer border. I’ve ridden through it hundreds of times; the dusty paths are well-beaten from the merchants and sellers travelling to and from.

Those paths are now submerged in about a million gallons of rushing water.

Lady Fennen and I are both silent for a moment, taking in the water-filled gorge silently. _What happened?_ Then I notice the flat pieces of wood floating far down below. Too flat to be trees swept up in the current; they’re fragments of the dam.

“The spring thaw broke through the dam, it seems,” Lady Fennen observes, pulling her horse back from the edge carefully. “We need to bring this news to the queen.”

“How are we going to get to the solstice pavilion?” I ask nervously, peering across the chasm to the territory on the other side. There’s a rope bridge to connect the closest parts of the cliffs, but I wouldn’t trust it for the whole court. “The Gathering’s only a few months away.”

Lady Fennen shakes her head. “The queen will know what to do. Come; the apothecary can wait.”

I nod, still watching the rushing water so far below. The Rivien sea pours into the gorge, crashing and sweeping over the ragged cliff sides, pressing up against the wooden stairs that used to lead down to the base of the gorge. Now they lead to the water. _What are the villagers going to do? The forest trails aren’t as safe as the trail through the gorge… The queen will know what to do,_ I repeat Lady Fennen’s statement to myself. It’s comforting, but I can’t help wondering how it feels to have so much pressure on you. _Healers are important to the kingdom, sure, but a queen or a king… I mean, they_ are _the kingdom._ I just hope there’ll never come a day when the queen _doesn’t_ know what to do.

“Let’s go,” I mumble, and follow Lady Fennen as we set off once more.


	10. Chapter 9 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh this is one of my favourite chapters... enjoy

Chapter 9 - Fiyr

“No one is to go out alone.”

The queen’s voice is like a crack in the ice of silence that has settled over the court since she revealed what Cindra and Yllowei found. I’m not that surprised; it would be too easy for someone to slip into the gorge without anyone else knowing until it was too late.

“Until we know how Rivier responds to the flood, we will not proceed any differently than before. Any supply runs that are normally fulfilled by the village of the Sun Rocks will need to be moved to any other available village. New assignments will be given by Sir Cawle.”

“And the Gathering?” It’s Lady Fyrra who speaks up, taking a step toward the queen who stands on the dais to address us.

The queen sighs. “We will find a solution for that when it becomes necessary. Perhaps the dam can be repaired before then.”

I don’t know much about dams, but even _I_ know that’s pretty optimistic. Based on how Cindra described it to me, it sounds like the dam is completely gone. It would be hard enough to just rebuild it; with all the water in the way, I have no idea how the villagers are going to manage to fix it. It’s been a while since an infrastructure collapse of this magnitude happened and I know that the queen might send some of us to help rebuild. _That would give Graie an excuse to hang around the village of the Sun Rocks._ _Wait, the village!_

If access to the village is cut off, what are Graie and Silaverre going to do? I dart a glance at him and see that he’s stricken by the announcement. _Oh no._

As the queen finishes and the court begins to disperse, I beeline for him. “Graie, Graie, we have to talk.”

He turns to me, eyes wide. “Yeah, I think we do. C’mon, let’s go out onto the pavilion.”

_Outside?_ Odd choice of place for a chat, but I follow him as he hurries out the doors and walks across the pale stone to one of the benches. I sit with him and begin,

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know,” he exclaims, cracking his knuckles anxiously. “I need to make sure she’s okay. Who knows how this is affecting Rivier?”

I pause. “How do you plan to see her if you can’t get to the village of the Sun Rocks?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” he repeats, standing as if he’s got too much energy to stay seated. “Maybe if I went to the border… isn’t there a rope bridge or something? Could I cross it?”

“I don’t know if that’s a great idea,” I say uncertainly. “Do you really need to see her? It’s just a flood.”

Graie pauses his pacing and whirls around to stare at me. “Damn it, _yes_ , Fiyr, I do! I need to make sure she’s alright! And she and I need to talk.”

I frown. _Talk about what?_ But I promised, and I don’t really wanna know the sordid details anyway. Even when he doesn’t elaborate, my stomach starts to sink as my thoughts race ahead to try to guess. _Oh no. Have they been careful? Could she be…_

That would be a disaster. I cross my fingers.

“Alright. Let’s go check out the gorge, then,” I suggest slowly. My heart feels heavy in my chest but I can’t quite explain the feeling of trepidation that’s settled over me. “The queen’s going to send out a patrol to assess the situation, in all likelihood. We can volunteer and you can see if there’s a Rivien patrol by the shore or something.”

Graie’s expression lights up in a look so grateful that I can’t help smiling. “Thank you, thank you. Let’s go volunteer now before she sends out Sir Cawle or something. _Thank_ you, Fiyr, I’m glad I can rely on you.”

I swallow.

…

As I guessed, the queen was just getting together a patrol to check out the situation by the gorge and she’s happy to hear that we’re just _dying_ to do it. We ride out without much fanfare, a hastily scribbled list from the queen in my saddlebag with a checklist of things to find out about the flood. I skimmed over it; mostly just about the height of the water and what the villagers know about how it happened.

Graie can’t seem to sit still all the way to the gorge. I understand that he’s worried about Silaverre and by extension, Rivier, but he seems concerned to the point of distraction. _Blessed Starlaxi,_ is _she pregnant?_ I have to think I’m overreacting, though. I know Graie wants to keep this part of his life private from me—which I definitely can’t blame him for, considering how badly I reacted when I found out—but surely he’d tell me if he was going to be a father?

_I did forget to tell him about Princesca being pregnant at first, didn’t I?_ I remember. _But she was my sister and we were fighting at the time anyway. Graie and I are doing well right now and it would be his own kids. He’d tell me._

I glance at him. He’s chewing on his lip.

“Graie…”

“Yeah?”

“Nevermind.”

_He’d tell me,_ I repeat.

“I’m just worried about her,” Graie mumbles. “You’d be too, wouldn’t you?”

“If my Rivien _amante_ was in danger?” I snort.

Graie shoots me a look. “If it was _Samn?_ ”

I redden. “Uh—I dunno.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s going on with you two, anyway?”

I shrug, rapidly deepening in colour. It’s hard to get a moment alone with her with everything going on; if we’re not all together in a conference about Sir Cawle, she’s occupied with Briatte or I’m out with Brakken. I don’t know where her head’s at; are we together? And what does that even _mean_? Then again, I think even if we’d been United for a decade, I’d still be worrying.

“I don’t know, honestly,” I admit. “Pretty ridiculous that I can’t manage to get anywhere with her when we live at the same court whereas you’re practically United with that Rivien.”

“Mm. That’s just your way, though,” Graie snorts.

“And your way… is?” I tease back. “Live fast, break the law, die young?”

“I sure hope not,” he answers.

We’re almost at the gorge when the sun is almost touching the tops of the trees. _We need to hurry up or we’re not gonna be back before nightfall,_ I think, shielding my eyes against the burnt-orange sky.

“Okay, let’s head over to where it’s narrowest so we can… do you hear that?” Graie asks.

I concentrate, and we bring the horses to a halt, and then hear it. _Sounds like… like someone crying._ It’s muffled, but it sounds like screaming. Screaming for help.

The gorge is shadowed, but I can see well enough to spot the figures on a ledge far beneath us. They’re too little to be men or women but they’re definitely human— _Are those kids? Oh no. How’d they get stuck out there?_

“There are a bunch of kids down there,” Graie hisses. “We have to help them!”

“How?” I whisper, dismounting Blitz and creeping closer to the edge of the gorge. It’s dizzying, looking down at the rushing water, but I know we can’t just leave those kids there.

“A boat! There’s a village near here, it’s small, but it’s a fishing village on the other side of the caves of the Sun Rocks,” Graie tells me, speaking so fast his words get mixed up. “We can take a boat out into the gorge and grab the kids. If they’re villagers, we’ll turn around and bring them back.”

I blink. “What do you mean, _if_ they’re villagers?”

“They might be Riviens!” Graie snaps. “This is what I was afraid of.”

_How did a bunch of Rivien children end up in a flooded gorge?!_ I shrug off the thoughts, though. We need to get the kids first, then we can sort everything else out. “Alright, let’s go to your little fishing village.”

We gallop along the side of the gorge, down the hill that I usually descend from the other side of the now-flooded gorge, and find ourselves next to the Rivien sea. I can see, far down the shoreline in the opposite direction that we’re riding, where the dam broke and the water flooded in. The Rivien sea makes a channel here, winding across Thundrian forests. I see the buildings through the trees as we tear down the path.

Soon enough, we ride around the edge of the town. Most of the activity’s settled down for the night, but we see a figure outlined in the fading sun, standing by the river. There’s a modest dock to his right and I see a rowboat mounted on wheels. _Perfect. We could hook that up to Blitz and Quicksilver and drag it back. Or maybe not… We can't very well drop Blitz and Quicksilver at the top of the gorge while we go on a rescue mission. Maybe this villager will be open to holding on to the horses for us._

“Uh, hello!” I call to the man. “Sir?”

He turns, fishing rod in hand. I motion to Graie to keep back as I ride closer, then hop off Blitz to be a little more non-threatening. Up close, the man seems friendly enough, a weathered face and grayish eyes set deep in warm brown skin.

“Hey, there,” he greets me. “Who are you?”

I run my hands through my hair, not quite sure where to start. “I… I’m a knight of Thundria’s court. Sir Fiyr Harte, at your service.”

He blinks, obviously not entirely certain what he’s supposed to do. I give him a little bow and he copies me. “Er. Right. And what can we do for you, m’lord?”

“I… I need to borrow your boat,” I admit. “We’ll return it. We just need to borrow it for a couple hours.”

He’s nonplussed, but shrugs all the same. “Certainly. I’m Warner, by the way. Is that boat there suited to your needs, m’lord?”

I fumble with my gloves and then give his hand a firm shake. “Yes, yes, that’ll do great. It’s uh, wonderful to meet you, Warner. Thank you for your help.”

“It’s my son’s boat,” he says conversationally as he helps me pull it over the dock and toward the horses. “He’s a good lad but rather prone to daydreaming, you know how it is.”

“Ah, uhuh,” I answer, huffing and puffing as I scrabble for a grip on the waxed wood. Warner seems unconcerned by the weight of the boat. “Thank you. Would you be able to keep our horses as well?”

“No trouble at all! No, no trouble whatsoever, m’lord,” he says. “Your lot saved my skin a couple times. We had a bit of an infestation of orcs for a little while there, didn’t we? Then a couple of Her Majesty’s knights swing by and suddenly everything’s cleared up! My boy was saved by one of ‘em, to boot. He wanted to grow up to fight just like them.”

I blink, a little taken aback at how much this man is sharing. “Er, that’s… great. Uh, I’m proud to be among them and it’s only our duty to help you.”

“Finest court in the lands, I’ll tell you,” he agrees. “Got a couple of cousins over in Wynnd. Can’t imagine it’s pleasant with all the winds gusting everywhere all the while and the kingdom disappearing for a few years.”

“Quite right,” I say distractedly. “Well, thank you for the boat. Goodbye. We’ll return it as soon as possible and take the horses off your hands.”

He bows to me again. “Thank you, m’lord. It’s a pleasure to be of service. I’ll tell my son about you! He’ll be pleased.”

“Er, okay, sounds good, thanks for the boat,” I repeat, throwing one end of the rope to Graie so he can wrap it around himself. I hand over Blitz’s lead reluctantly as Warner takes the leads of Blitz and Quicksilver to bring them to whatever lodging this village has for horses.

“Do you need anything else?” Warner calls as I wrap the ropes around my chest.

“No! Just the boat and stabling the horses, thank you!” I answer, stifling a laugh. _He’s very chatty._

“Of course, m’lord!” he calls back, almost out of sight.

Graie and I begin to haul the rowboat up the hill. It’s not easy, but we’ve built up enough strength over the years that I’m surprised at how smooth it becomes to pull it, step by step, away from the village. It’s hard to forget the sound of the kids down in the gorge.

Once we’re out of earshot of Warner and a good ways into the trees, Graie bursts into laughter and after a moment, so do I.

“Oh man, thanks for handling that one,” Graie wheezes. “What was _with_ him?”

I shake my head, still laughing half-incredulously. “Dude, I wish I knew. Starved for company? Bedazzled by my status?”

“Is that all, m’lord?” Graie mimics him in an overeager tone so accurate to Warner’s that it sets me off again. “Just the boat, m’lord? Won’t you come bless my son? He’s _dying_ to meet you!”

“No, no, stop,” I laugh helplessly. “I was scared he wouldn’t let me go.”

“I would be too!” he exclaims. “That man gave me _weird_ vibes.”

We continue trading quips about the odd villager on the way to the gorge, but I can’t shake the feeling of worry the more time elapses between us finding the kids and us getting back to them. At last, the land starts to curve upward again and we near the gorge. My hands are burning from their grip on the rough rope and my chest heaves, but there’s no time to waste.

“C’mon,” I huff. “Let’s put it in the water.”

Graie gasps for air as he unwinds the rope from his chest and we start to push the rowboat into the lapping water. I plant my feet on the pebbly shore, careful not to be pulled over by the weight of the boat. I feel almost _too_ light and unburdened now that I’m not hauling a boat around, but we manage to manoeuvre it into the water.

“Let’s go,” Graie says, out of breath, waving me into the boat. I step over the side, carefully testing the sway of it in the water.

It’s a pretty simple boat, just sanded wood panels forming three seats, one at the front and one at the back, then another in the middle. I reach under the slats in the front and my fingers close around a round wooden stick. _Oars?_

The boat suddenly lurches as Graie pushes off the shore with one foot and swings himself into the boat alongside me with remarkable dexterity.

“Found some oars,” I inform him. “Let’s try to get over to the opening to the gorge, where the dam broke.”

He nods and grabs one of the oars from me, then sticks it in the water. The sunlight is rapidly fading, but I can see enough to tell that we’re moving pretty quickly. The distance between us and the shore gets further and further with each passing moment.

“Uh, we’re moving fast,” Graie comments.

Trying not to panic, I thrust my paddle into the water and try to pull it through the water to reorient ourselves. It moves us the opposite direction that I wanted. _Shit! I don’t know how to row._

But when I look up, at least, we seem to be moving toward the opening of the gorge. I can see the high walls of the cliffs. _Surging_ would actually be a better word. The current is sucking us toward it. I peer through the gloom, trying to catch sight of the children.

“Fiyr, we’re going awfully quickly,” Graie repeats his warning, his voice rising in fear.

“I _know_ ,” I grunt, plunging the paddle back into the water to shift us to the left. It works this time, thank the Starlaxi, and we narrowly avoid careening into the side of the cliff.

My stomach lurches with the boat and suddenly, I spot them.

“There they are!” I shout over the water. There are three children, huddled together on a ledge that just pokes out of the water. A wave will sweep over them every so often, but they manage to keep their balance on the stone platform.

We’ve entered the gorge.

The water roars around us and instead of trying to control our direction at this point, I’m just trying to stop us from being smashed into the walls of stone on either side. The spray of water at this close to the surface drenches us immediately. Graie paddles fiercely and the current shifts once more, sending us rushing toward the ledge where the children are huddled.

“We’re coming!” I shout to them. Suddenly, a wave comes up from underneath us and carries us directly onto the ledge by some miracle. I thank the Starlaxi. The boat grinds and creaks as the wood scrapes over the stone.

The children jump back as our boat teeters once, then comes to a halt directly in front of them. I gasp, sweeping my soaked hair out of my face, then stumble out of the boat.

There are three kids, all the same age, two little boys and a little girl. I check the Trace quickly and realize that Graie’s hunch was right. They’re Rivien. _Doesn’t matter. We just need to get them out of here._

“Come on, we’re not going to hurt you,” I tell them breathlessly. “Get in our boat; we’ll take you back to the Rivien castle—er, galleon.”

One of the little boys, his wet black hair plastered to his forehead, steps forward bravely. “You’re Thundrian, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasp, fighting to get my breath back. “No time to waste. We just want to help.”

The boy still looks uncertain, but his brother and sister are more than happy to jump into the rowboat alongside Graie. Really, I think they’re just happy anyone’s come to save them, but the other boy’s not so easily swayed.

“You’ll bring us back?” he asks doubtfully.

“ _Yes_ ,” I repeat. “You need to get in the boat before the next big wave sweeps us off.”

“But—” he begins, but I can see it coming now, the swell of water that’s going to send the boat rushing back into the gorge.

“ _Now!_ ” I shout. It’s too late to try to convince him. I just grab him under his arms and lift him into the boat, then jump in myself, just in time as the wave hits us and we get carried off the ledge.

“Hey!” he shouts, but he’s drowned out by the roar of water as we’re sent surging back onto the waves.

“What’s your name?” Graie’s asking the other two.

“I’m Primaroos, but everyone calls me Roos. This is Perrich,” the girl says, teeth chattering from the cold of the water that soaks us all to the bone. “And Reid.”

“Roos, you’re Lady Feot’s daughter, right? Meistya Feot?” Graie asks.

She nods. “Yeah. Aren’t you a Thundrian knight? How’d you know?”

Graie blinks. “Er, met your mother at a Gathering. How long had you three been up there?”

“Ages,” Perrich volunteers. “We were—um…”

He looks guiltily at Reid, who has stubbornly refused to talk to me. Which is fine, because I need to focus on avoiding getting us killed and trying to get out of this gorge in a timely fashion.

“This was your idea?” Graie asks Reid, who folds his arms.

“We stole a boat! It’s all splinters now, though,” Roos informs Graie, much to Reid’s chagrin.

“Roos! Don’t tell _him_ that,” Reid snaps at his sister, shooting Graie a distasteful look.

“Hey, hey, c’mon, we just saved your skins,” Graie points out. “I feel like we deserve to know how it happened.”

Perrich and Roos exchange looks, and finally Reid grumbles, “Fine. But you can’t tell our mother.”

Graie and I exchange a wry look. _Kid almost got him and his siblings killed and his number one concern is avoiding getting a stern talking-to from his mom?_ I bite off a cry as the boat suddenly lurches to one side and we all grab the other edge to avoid being tipped out.

The wave subsides and we’re righted again, but I can see a bend in our path up ahead. _Where are we going to come out?_ As far as I can tell, we’re still at sea-level. Is it just going to spit us back out into the Rivien sea? _That should make it easier to get to shore, then we can flag down a patrol._

The sky is completely dark at this point and it’s getting harder to peer through the darkness to make out the current of the pitch-black waters. The cliffsides loom on either side in the darkness, immovable and silent when contrasted with the pitch of the waves.

Though it’s loud in here, with the water frothing on either side, I can hear a thunder up ahead. _What’s coming?_ I paddle harder, avoiding being tipped by the next big wave from behind that carries us another acre across the water. My stomach protests, but I focus on the water.

_Oh no._

I catch sight of the frothing frenzy that awaits us at the mouth of the other side of the gorge—before, the trade route through the dry gorge would come out on the other side on the pebbly shore. Now that area has been transformed into a whirling chamber of water, trapped by the narrowing gorge, then a stretch of the shore that is flooded with water that rushes down the shore and back into the Rivien sea.

_If we can make it past the chamber where the water is bottlenecked, then we’ll be free on the sea._ I gulp. _We just have to not get dashed on the rocks._

Luckily, there’s no threat of jagged rocks from _underneath_ the water; the gorge was run smooth by the water that coursed through it hundreds of years ago. But that doesn’t mean we’re safe yet. The water is still slapping against every side of the cliff, rushing from one side to the other and around in a circle with no discernable direction as the water provoked by the dam breaking fails to escape through the narrow end of the gorge.

“Hold on!” I shout over the roar of the water. “Duck under the seats, we’ll be out of this in a minute!”

And then we plunge into the chamber of raging waves.

We’re immediately thrashed by a wave that sweeps over us, having rebounded off the side of the gorge. I’m briefly blinded by the water and I drop the floor of the boat, trying to brace myself against one of the seats to save myself from being thrown overboard. I can only hope that the three Rivien kids and Graie are doing the same, or we’re going to have more problems on our hands.

When the wave passes and we’re subjected to the night air, made all the colder by our soaked states, once more, I spit the seawater out of my mouth and shout, “Everyone okay?”

“We’re good, Fiyr,” Graie coughs. “Keep going.”

I risk a glance back and am relieved to see that he’s got Perrich and Roos under one arm each and Reid half-wedged under his chest. There’s no time to get comfortable, we all just need to not drown.

A wave lurches us to the left and I thrust out my oar, trying to push us off the side of the cliff toward where the water is spouting out of the gorge. I can only manage to slow our collision with the side of the gorge and the boat makes a dull _clunk_ , barely audible over the water, as we knock against the stone. As a result of the water being driven into the stone over and over again, we’re locked against the cliff.

“Okay, we’re about to get out and onto the sea!” I yell, furiously trying to wedge by paddle between the cliff face and the edge of the rowboat. My hands are trembling; I’ve way over-exerted myself, but I have to keep my grip on the oar or we’re all fucked. “Get ready! We’re pretty much going to shoot out, so hold on—”

And then with a low scraping sound, we’re driven along the edge of the cliff, splinters from the edge of the boat flying, then we tip over the edge of the opening, water spraying our backs. I hear someone scream behind me, and then we’re flying.

The boat rockets out of the mouth of the gorge, propelled by the force of hundreds of tonnes of pent-up water. We’re airborne for a few exhilarating moments and my heart jumps to my mouth. We’re moving so fast it’s hard to breathe.

I can hear the roar of water behind us but I’m transfixed by the unimpeded view of the Rivien sea that is before us for just a split second; the moon shining above and lighting the water silver like a layer of ice on the surface that seems to stretch over the horizon.

Then we start to fall. The rowboat doesn’t tip so far forward that we lose our balance, thank the Starlaxi, but I grab either side and brace myself for impact.

We slam into the water so hard my teeth clack together, but I don’t feel my spine immediately shatter, so I think that’s a good sign. The water rushing out of the gorge sends us shooting further from the shore immediately, but then we begin to glide smoothly across the water, then stop moving at all, only gently swaying with the waves.

We’re all silent for a moment.

Graie breaks it when he says, “Well, fuck me blind, I didn’t think you could do it.”

I let out a laugh that’s mostly relief and residual panic. “Me neither.”

He stands somewhat shakily and clasps my hand, pulling me into a trembling hug.

“We’re alive!” I exclaim. “Blessed Starlaxi.”

“How are you three?” Graie rasps, turning back to look at the three pale faces illuminated by the moonlight that are peeking out from under the bench at the back of the boat.

Reid is the first to pipe up, of course. “We’re okay.”

I sit on the bench at the front of the rowboat, though it’s more like a fall because my legs are so shaky after trying to keep me stable and upright in the raging waters of the gorge that as soon as I give the command to sit down, they collapse. _Holy shit…_ I think, panting, and rake my soaked hair out of my face. I rub my face with my palms, my skin wet with seawater. _I can’t believe we’re alive._

“Can we go back to the galleon, now?” Roos asks timidly.

I laugh and it turns into a cough. “Right. Yeah. We’ll try to take you back. Uh, where is it?”

“Well,” Graie interjects, “it looks like we might not need to take them there.”

“What do you…” I begin, then follow his gaze to another boat, across the waters from us, with three silhouetted figures inside it. “Oh. Can they see us?”

Graie’s already cupped his hands around his mouth and bellows, loud as a foghorn, “ _Over here! Hey! Hey! C’mere!_ ”

I blink. “That should do the trick.”

Sure enough, the figures begin to move on the boat and it gets larger as it cuts a smooth path through the waters toward us. After a minute or two, they’re close enough for me to identify them. _That’s the captain of the guard… Leaparra Fore._ I shudder, remembering our encounter on the battlefield. _And Sir Feur… he’s their uncle, isn’t he?_ I glance down at the three children we’ve saved. _And one more. Bellack Clah?_

“Dad!” Reid shouts suddenly, popping up over the side of the boat.

_Ah, Sir Clah must be their father._ I shiver. _Man, I’d never let my kids leave the castle again if this is what happened to them._

Lady Fore brings the boat closer and closer until we’re side-by-side. She blinks at us like she can’t believe what she’s saying.

“Children,” Sir Clah gasps, reaching out to embrace his sons and daughter over the side of the boat. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“Sir Harte and Sir Sterrip,” Lady Fore says, still staring at us in confusion, then she frowns. “Why are you on our territory? Stealing children?”

_I’m not taking shit from her after I saved three of her own,_ I think, scowling right back. “ _Saving_ them, actually. Ask them yourself.”

Lady Fore looks like she’s going to growl at me, but thankfully, Roos pipes up.

“It’s true! We got stuck in the gorge, it was flooded, and they were on a boat and they saw us and saved us,” she explains.

“We actually saw you on horseback,” Graie corrects. “We went to a village and got a boat to save you.”

“You don’t have boats?” Perrich looks puzzled.

“Enough,” Lady Fore cuts in.

I suppress a smile. My heart’s still thrumming from the adrenaline-fuelled rush through the gorge and seeing the captain of the Rivien guard be forced to admit we saved them is nothing short of delightful.

“We need to take the children back and I expect King Crukkedaro will want to hear from you what happened,” Lady Fore announces. “We’ll take you and the boat back to our spring encampment.”

_What?_ I exchange glances with Graie. “Can’t we just… why can’t we go back to shore? You’ve got the children now. We were supposed to be checking out the state of the gorge.”

To prove it, I dig the paper that the queen gave me out of my pocket. Unfortunately, it has turned to a handful of ink-stained mush. _Well, shit._

“You can do so in the morning,” she retorts, looking all-too-pleased to be forcing us to do something we don’t want to do. “Come on. We’ll tow the boat.”

And before Graie or I can protest, Stowen Feur has grabbed a rope from a container within their boat and begins to fasten it to the hook at the front of our rowboat. I glance back at the shore, worried, then back at the Rivien boat that now contains three children, their father, their uncle, and the captain of the Rivien guard. _Guess there’s nothing we can do._

“Can we at least send a message to the queen to tell her what’s happened?” Graie pleads.

“You can send word once we’ve arrived at the encampment,” Lady Fore agrees. “Let’s go.”

And without a word exchanged between them, Sir Clah drops his oar into Lady Fore’s hand and she and Sir Feur begin to row while Sir Clah speaks to his children.

“Well, at least we don’t have to row anymore,” I mutter to Graie. Though I’d never admit it, I’m impressed by the strength of the Riviens as we speed over the water. Without anything else to distract me, I’m just watching as Sir Feur and Lady Fore drive the oars through the water, back and forth, arms flexing and releasing as they go.

_How do they not get tired?_ I marvel. Just trying to keep us balanced was hard enough for me, and years of practice with a bow has built up my upper body strength a not-inconsiderable amount. _Riviens must all be muscular as the Blacklands._

Graie draws in a breath next to me and I look up, following his gaze, and see the island in the distance that we’re rapidly approaching. I wonder what Graie’s feeling right now, being brought into the territory of the woman he loves. _Oh, blessed Starlaxi, we’re probably going to see her… I hope Graie can keep his cool._

I may not know how Graie’s feeling, but I certainly know how it feels to me. Because as much as I have to think that the court’s going to be thankful that we rescued their kids, I can’t shake the feeling of being prisoners, shackled to the boat in front of us, being brought before the king.

…

“Reid! Roos! Perrich!” Lady Feot, at least, looks thrilled to see us all.

Lady Fore brought the boat into the harbour of the grassy island next to many other boats of the same size and one enormous galleon that I have to guess is the Rivien ‘castle’. We scaled stairs on the edge of a cliff face and found ourselves on an island that looked like a piece of Wynnder land was cut out of their moors and dropped in the Rivien sea. Fields and farms stretched out in front of us and not far from the little harbour, there was a large array of tents and open air tables. People milled about the main tent in the middle of the encampment and nearly every available surface was emblazoned with the Rivien mark and colours, a stylized raindrop and silver and blue.

We were led into the main tent where King Crukkedaro sat on his throne, speaking with a _very_ familiar woman, but before we could walk over to them, Lady Feot ambushed us to sweep up her children in a hug.

“You’re safe,” she exclaims, pressing kisses on to the tops of their heads. Reid groans in protest but Perrich wraps his arms around her waist like he doesn’t ever want to let go. “What happened? We were so worried! You’re soaked to the bone! Come on, let’s get you some dry clothes and something to eat and we’ll have Med Frer look you over.”

She ushers them out of the tent, not before shooting Graie and I a grateful look, and then we’re alone with Lady Fore, the king, and Silaverre Strime.

The latter meets my eyes with a look of forced blankness that’s so convincing I’m briefly confused. _Doesn’t she recognize me? Oh—damn, she’s good._ I can only hope Graie is putting on as convincing of a performance; I don’t want to risk a glance at him.

“Lady Fore,” King Crukkedaro rumbles, his deep, slightly slurred voice filling the tent. “Thundrians? Are they responsible for the safe return of Lady Feot’s children?”

The captain of the guard bows deeply and I quickly follow suit. “Yes, Your Majesty. They told me they saw the children in the gorge and took a boat from a nearby village to rescue them.”

King Crukkedaro’s brows raise in surprise. Silaverre looks similarly shocked.

“It’s true,” I chime in. “The children were sheltered on a ledge of stone and we paddled into the flooded gorge to save them and then we were swept back out onto your territory. Lady Fore’s patrol found us.”

He blinks slowly, like a cat, absorbing my story. “I see.”

I glance at Graie nervously. He looks calm and he isn’t staring at Silaverre, which is about as much as I dare hope for. I look back at the king. He looks pensive, then speaks once more.

“Well. Rivier is indebted to you two, it seems.” He rubs his chin, scratching at the stubble like he’s massaging out his next words. “It’s too late to send out escorts to bring you back to Thundria, I suppose. We’ll return you in the morning. Silaverre, you can find our _guests_ some accommodations for the night?”

He looks at his daughter, who nods, the blank look still behind her pale eyes.

“And Lady Fore, I need to speak with you,” the king tells her. “Dismissed.”

“Hang on,” I interject, running a hand through my hair nervously when the king’s gaze trains itself on me. “Um. We need to return the boat.”

King Crukkedaro waves his hand. “You needn’t worry about that, we’ll take care of it.”

I’m a little taken aback at his easy generosity, but I nod and turn to Silaverre.

She leaves her father’s side and beckons to us. “Come on, I’ll bring you to the healer’s tent. There are plenty of extra beds in there, Sirs…”

“Harte,” I introduce myself.

“Sir Sterrip,” Graie says, eyes glued to her in a way that makes me worried the king will see, but we’re already halfway out of the tent. “And you are?”

“Lady Silaverre Strime, at your service,” she repeats the introduction she gave me all those years ago, shaking our hands. I think I detect a gleam in her eyes, but otherwise she’s playing the perfect stranger.

We exit the main tent, returning to the open-air encampment, but I don’t dare relax yet. There are still Riviens around us, knights, squires, ladies, and elders, ready to catch Graie and Silaverre. Most of them are asleep, I have to assume, but there are still too many people for us to let our guards down. She leads us across the encampment toward one of the other big tents with standards of Rivier hanging on either side of the entrance, swaying in the wind.

_Must be the healer’s tent._ I glance up at the night sky. _The queen’ll be worried._

“Can we send a message to our court?” I ask Silaverre.

“Of course. I’ll ask Sir Clah,” she agrees.

_Huh?_ I glance at Graie, questioning.

_Crow-summoner_ , he mouths at me and I nod, the pieces falling into place. He’ll summon a crow to fly our message to the queen.

_Must be pretty strong,_ I think as Silaverre brings us into the healer’s tent. _Controlling their summon at such a distance would be hard, wouldn’t it? Or could you just give the animal the command and then not worry about it?_ Neither I nor Sir Cawle were summoners, so I never learned much about the specifics of their life-force.

The healer’s tent is lit in warm torchlight and I scan the room. Lady Feot and her children are standing at the back of the tent with a short man in Rivien healer’s robes, his long brown hair tied back neatly. Rows of temporary beds line the tent, all empty.

“I can fetch you both some sleep-clothes from storage,” Silaverre offers. “Med Frer has paper and ink on his desk for your message.”

“Thanks,” I say.

She gives us a brisk nod, though I don’t miss the way her eyes linger on Graie. A flicker of a frown crosses my face, but I’m far too tired to comment. _Let’s just send the message to the queen and sleep._

I cross the healer’s tent and explain the situation to their healer. He’s an aloof, older man, who doesn’t seem to have a strong feeling about a single thing I say. Lady Feot shoots me a warm smile, though, and I feel gratified. Med Frer gives me a piece of paper and a quill to write with and I compose a short message to the queen.

_Your Majesty,_

_Sir Sterrip and I checked out the gorge. It’s completely flooded; none of the trade routes are intact any more. The dam seems to be completely gone. While we were there, we noticed children huddled on a stone ledge in the gorge, so we took a boat from a nearby village and rescued them. We were discovered by Riviens, and they brought us back to their spring encampment so we could explain the situation. Sir Sterrip and I are staying the night because the king won’t spare knights to escort us back until morning. We’re safe and the Riviens aren’t hostile. We’ll be back tomorrow._

_Your loyal knight,_

_Sir Harte_

I look it over, then fold it up and press a wax seal into it. The Rivien symbol stares at me out of the red wax, and I stand, clutching it tightly.

“All done?” the healer asks, not looking up from his books behind his desk.

“I think so,” I say.

“Bring it to Sir Clah, then.” He yawns. “Don’t be surprised if I’m asleep by the time you’re back.”

I watch, bemused, as he stands, stretches, and then plods into the farthest corner of the tent and behind a partition where I assume he sleeps. _Huh. Weird guy._

Silaverre returns to the healer’s wing with Bellack Clah in tow. I bring my letter over to her and see that she’s got a bundle of white sleep-clothes in her arms.

“Here’s the letter.” I pass it to Sir Clah. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ for saving my children,” he answers, tucking the letter into his belt. “I’ll send it right away.”

Then we’re alone with Silaverre.

“Here.” She holds out the clothes and I take them from her, separating the two pairs of trousers and undershirts, then give one to Graie.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Graie announces casually, keeping his voice low.

“Oh?” She feigns half-interest. “Let’s sit over there.”

I watch them go, narrowing my eyes slightly, but they stay far enough apart that they still look like they’re from opposing kingdoms and don’t know each other. _And no one’s around now, anyway, loosen up,_ I tell myself, taking a deep breath. It’s impossible to let my guard down completely, though, not when if I even dip a _toe_ into the fifth dimension, Rivien trace hits me like a charging bull.

_Just take a deep breath. Go to bed and then you can forget this ever happened,_ I advise myself.

“I’m going to bed,” I tell Graie, who glances up from his conversation with Silaverre.

“Right,” he yawns. “I should too.”

I raise an eyebrow at him and Silaverre. She gives me a nod. “Everything’s fine.”

Satisfied, I turn and find a relatively secluded corner where I can strip off my soggy uniform and change into the crisp, clean sleep-clothes that Silaverre brought. It’s not until my skin begins to warm again that exhaustion sweeps over me. _It’s been quite a day._

I pick out a cot far enough from Graie and Silaverre to give them a little privacy and slide under the covers. It’s hard to get comfortable at first; my instincts are still telling me I’m on enemy territory and that I need to keep watch, but the bed is soft and I’m bone-tired.

The sound of water and the tents flapping in the wind lulls me to sleep. Graie and Silaverre are still speaking in low tones when I finally drift off.


	11. Chapter 10 - Fiyr

Chapter 10 - Fiyr

When I wake up, for a few moments, I have no idea where I am. My bed feels strange beneath me, the pillow squishier and the air different. It feels like there’s a breeze. I blearily check the Trace and then bolt upright when I feel Rivien.

_What’s going on?_

Then I remember and slump back against the head of the cot. _Oh. Whew._ I breathe slowly, calming my racing heart, and then glance around the healer’s tent in the Rivien spring encampment. Empty cots line the edges of the canvas tent all around me and I spot Med Frer already up and about at the back.

Graie’s sleeping next to me, his arm slung over his forehead as he turns restlessly. I peer out the front of the tent, trying to gauge how early in the morning it is by the light that glows through the white canvas. Usually, I wake up early-ish if I’m not woken for patrol, although given the excitement of last night, my body might have decided that I needed more sleep. I sigh, remembering the lash of the waters and the children’s frightened faces. It feels like a strange dream, but the roaring waves are fresh enough in my memory that I can imagine being back in that boat with only a moment’s thought.

_I wonder how Perrich, Roos, and Reid are managing. At least they’re safe now,_ I think, sending a prayer to the Starlaxi quickly before I swing my legs over the side of the cot. _Now, where’s my uniform?_ I left it in a soggy pile next to the cot, too tired to fold it properly; besides, it was soaked through in sea-water. I’m not sure how much help _folding_ it would’ve been.

“Rise and shine!” a familiar voice trills from the front of the tent. I rub my eyes and spot Silaverre with an armful of clothes. She’s already dressed in an ice-blue uniform, her silver hair tightly braided and dangling over her shoulder. “I had your uniforms washed.”

“Thanks,” I rasp, clearing my throat and taking the clean dark green knight’s tunic from her and smoothing it out in front of me on the cot. _Wonder what some poor Rivien squire thought when he got a couple Thundrian uniforms in with the laundry._ “Graie! Wake up.”

“What time is it?” he groans, rolling over.

“Time to go back to Thundria.” I stand and stretch, then retreat to the corner of the tent I used last night to get dressed. Graie follows suit after I’m finished and Silaverre waits for us by our cots.

“Well—” Graie begins, but he’s cut off by a rumble from his stomach. “Oops. ‘Scuse me.”

“I guess the court’s hospitality wouldn’t extend to breakfast?” I glance at Silaverre. _Do I even wanna know what they eat for breakfast? Fried fish?_

“Unfortunately, I don’t think so,” Silaverre laughs, but it sounds a little forced.

“We can eat when we get back then,” I decide, turning to leave. _We should probably thank the king. I’m not thanking Lady Fore, though; far as I’m concerned, she’s only just begun to repay the debt from nearly gutting me with those beasts in the battle at the Wynnder castle._

“Is something wrong?” Graie asks Sila.

She blinks. “What? No, everything’s fine.”

He cocks his head. “Are you sure?”

Her eyes flick from him to me, then back, like she’s weighing something. “Well… I…”

The hesitation on her face makes me curious. _What’s the matter? What did we say? What made Graie notice something was wrong?_ I mentally backtrack through the exchange. _Just talking about breakfast. I suggested that we eat here and it made her uncomfortable._

A decision seems to settle over her and she lets out a long breath. “Understand that I wouldn’t be telling you this if we weren’t desperate.”

_Desperate?_ I’m taken aback. Something _really_ is wrong. “You can trust us,” I assure her.

She makes a face at that, but continues, “Something’s wrong with the fish. I think it’s the gods—they’ve corrupted the water. People at our court have been getting sick.”

I glance around the healer’s tent, puzzled that there’s no one here based on her words.

She shakes her head. “The people who get sick either recover fast or die.”

Graie and I exchange a look, shaken by her blunt words. _How long has this been going on?_ But I don’t dare interrupt her.

“So we’ve stopped eating fish, obviously, and put out warnings,” she sighs. “But a lot of the economy in our territory is based on fish and with the village of the Sun Rocks cut off by the flood… It’s just a collision of a lot of bad events. We’re… running low.”

I blink. _They’re starving?_

“We don’t know when the fish will be safe to eat again,” she murmurs. “The longer it takes, the worse the recession for the villagers will be and the less my father will want to tax them… but we can’t continue this way. We need more food. Not… not a lot; the court’s not as big as it’s been in the past.”

For a moment I don’t understand, then I glance at Graie and see that he’s come to the same conclusion as me. _We have food. Could we really… surely it’s against the knight’s code, somehow? But isn’t the knight’s code, above all, about being honourable and generous?_ I search Silaverre’s tight expression, and remember past clashes with her. _She’s stubborn and prideful as the Blacklands, I know that much._ It must be getting really, really serious if she’s willing to set it aside for the good of her court. Or maybe I misjudged her. Or maybe both.

“Could we…” I hesitate. “Do you think your father would agree to let us feed your court out of territory? We don’t exactly have an overabundance, but it sounds like things are really bad for you all.”

Silaverre laughs. “He’s less proud than I am. To a fault, sometimes. Would you really…” Her brows draw together like she’s worried. “Rivier would be indebted to you.”

“We don’t need to make it so official, do we?” Graie points out. Neither I nor Silaverre catch his meaning and he waves his hand to clarify. “Like, we can just bring you food every so often… without it needing to be a big _thing_.”

His emphasis makes me catch on. _He’s suggesting we don’t tell the queen._ I consider it. _She’s never been that hostile toward Rivier but would she agree to this kind of plan? Silaverre seems honest and I don’t think that she wouldn’t ask for help if they weren’t in real trouble… Can we risk the queen potentially saying no?_

“Ah.” Silaverre nods. “That would… be wise. But you _should_ really talk to my father; he wanted to see you off. And he’ll notice if we get more food, so we might as well get him onboard now.” She shrugs. “Like I said, his ego’s a little smaller.”

_Than yours?_ I wonder.

Graie makes a noise of agreement. “I meant on… our end.”

“Right. Well. Let’s go.” She leaves the tent and we follow her out into the dim sunshine. The sky is overcast and a cool breeze blows off the sea. I shiver.

Silaverre walks through the camp, past tents and between tables, greeting everyone by name and Graie and I trail awkwardly after her. We get some stares from people who must have been asleep last night and missed the excitement. Nobody jumps on us and starts beating us over the head, though, so I try to tune out the looks and rub my arms instead, feeling the goose-flesh raised by the cool air. The white linen shirt beneath our green tunics isn’t exactly the most wind-resistant fabric.

We arrive at the king’s tent and Silaverre pulls aside the flap, then gestures us in. In the light of day, unsoaked and rested, I feel intimidated by the presence of the man in the tent. Last night was mostly spent in a half-conscious state of exhaustion—now, I can fully appreciate just how commanding his presence is.

He’s seated on his throne— _Again_ , I observe—speaking with Lady Fore. She spots us before he does and gives him a quick bow, then exits with a flourish of her copper coat, narrowing her eyes at us as she goes. I fight the urge to give her a rude stare right back and instead bow to the king.

“You’re awake,” he says. “Good. I’ll have a boat sent to bring you back to your territory. I’m sure you’re anxious to return.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I agree. “But… before we do go, there was one thing…”

I glance at Silaverre, nervous. King Crukkedaro raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Yes?”

“Sil—er, Lady Strime told us of what your kingdom is facing,” I tell him as diplomatically as I can, fiddling with my hands behind my back. _I really hope she’s right about him being humble or else we might get booted right out…_ “Sir Sterrip and I… wanted to offer our assistance. No strings attached. We just want to help.”

He clearly wasn’t expecting the offer. His eyebrows raise and he leans back in the throne, contemplating it. At least he doesn’t snap and start yelling at us right away. “I see.”

I’m anxious to assure him that we’re not trying to put him in a position where he would owe us a favour. “I don’t mean to… you wouldn’t need to do anything in return.”

“I see,” he repeats, moving his uneven jaw around a little like he’s thinking, then wets his lips. “Well, if you’re certain your kingdom can afford to give up food.”

Graie is quick to agree. “Yes, we have more than enough to share. We can hunt and gather for you and bring it to the shores in… say, four days?”

The king cracks a lopsided smile that makes me relax a little. “That would be very much appreciated by our court. Are you certain that Queen Bluelianna will agree?”

Graie and I exchange a look.

“Er… yes. She has never harboured any hostility to Rivier,” I tell him.

His expression turns contemplative once more, then he dips his head. “Very well. Then you will be on the shore in four days’ time.”

“That’s right,” Graie confirms.

The king stands and I fight the urge to backpedal as he towers over us, then offers his hand to shake. I gingerly take it, uncomfortably aware that my eye-level is at his chest, but not wanting to snap my neck by trying to meet his gaze. His grip is strong.

“Silaverre, you can take them back? Sir Baley can help you,” the king tells his daughter.

She bobs in a quick bow and then waves for us to follow her out. I do, glancing one last time at the king as he lowers himself back into his throne. _Huh. The queen seems to use hers mostly for show. I guess he really does sit in it most of the day. Maybe so that he can actually see his court._

We walk back out into the Rivien camp and Silaverre flags down a heavy-set man with brown hair tied back behind his head. He’s much friendlier looking than most of the Riviens that have met our gazes with barely-concealed distrust, and comes right over with an amiable word of greeting to the three of us.

Sir Baley seems very curious about our misadventure with the children and the gorge last night and peppers Graie with questions as we walk. I leave it to him to answer them and instead focus on the sea over the edge of the island. It’s misty this morning and I can hardly make out Thundrian territory in the distance. It almost looks like there are mountains rising out of the centre of the forest, although I know it’s just the trees in the area of the castle. It’s striking how enormous they appear when compared to the rest of the trees on the territory.

We walk down the stairs that snake around the side of the island and reach the dock. The boats we saw docked last night are mostly gone. _Patrolling._

Silaverre steps into one of the boats on the furthest edge of the dock and helps Graie and I in as well, even though I’m pretty sure I could do it without help. Sir Baley undoes the knots that attach it to the wooden post on the dock with deft fingers, then loops the rope around his arm a couple times and eases himself into the boat alongside us.

The boat is large enough for five at least and equipped with four oars, two on either side, with a rudder at the back. I glance at Silaverre. “We can help row.”

She snorts. “Didn’t you all almost get drowned in the gorge?”

I colour. “Well…” Graie stifles a laugh.

“Just sit back. We’ll bring you there,” Sir Baley promises us.

I fold my arms and Graie nudges me with a grin. I frown at him. “I think we’d make _perfectly fine_ Riviens.”

Graie raises his eyebrows. “Well, not to side with the _enemy_ but after last night…”

“Oh, shut up. You’re alive, aren't you?”

…

Over the next few months, the spring blossoms into a brutally hot summer that shows itself in ripening fruit from the villages on Thundrian territory, uniforms sticking to backs from sweat, extra washes every few days with lukewarm water from the pump, and sunburns on cheeks and noses. My hair lightens into a sort of burnt orange rather than the dark red it sits at throughout the rest of the year.

Graie and I skim food from every supply run either of us are on, offering every time to be the one to bring it into the kitchen and stashing it in a sheltered spot by the stables, then sneaking it up to our rooms whenever we get the chance. We’ve also ended up volunteering for kitchen duty more often than normal to make sure that there are fewer eyes on the slightly-emptier cupboards. My cooking skill doesn’t improve much, but Graie’s ease over a stove makes up for it.

I’m relieved it’s summer, at least; it means more fruit, more food passed around freely rather than hoarded to be eaten later, and it means that we can help Rivier. They’re grateful for our help and little by little, I see even the most obstinately closed-off members of their court opening up to Graie and me. It’s obviously really hard for some of them to admit weakness—Riviens have a reputation of pridefulness, and from everything I’ve seen it’s completely warranted—but I’m glad to see that they don’t let their pride get in the way of them accepting help. I feel myself softening to them in turn, until I’m practically chummy with the woman who threatened to rend my closest friendship apart less than a year ago.

We’re going out to hunt for Rivier directly today; we’re planning to hit the forests near the shore and then bring whatever we’ve caught to the shore by about mid-day like we promised the king on our last visit. Hopefully, we’ll catch more than they need so we have something to show for when we return to the court.

Graie and I are just heading to the stables when I hear a noise behind us. I pause and Graie walks on ahead, going to get Quicksilver, and then I turn around.

“Clowd,” I sigh.

He’s standing on the pavilion with his arms crossed defensively like he already knows what I’m going to say, but his expression has a hint of hope all the same. “Where are you going? Can I come?”

“No, buddy, I…” I glance back at where Graie’s leading Blitz and Quicksilver toward me. “Er… we’re on a secret mission. Knights only.”

Clowd scowls. “I’m big enough to be a squire, aren’t I? Thorrin’s shorter than me and he’s been training for _eons_. When am I gonna get my ceremony?”

“It’s not about size, it’s about _age_ ,” I remind him. “Thorrin’s much older than you. And anyway, don’t compare yourself to other people like that. C’mon, let’s go see if Cindra needs your help in the healer’s wing. I promise when you’re a squire, you can come do this kind of thing with Graie and I.”

This seems to mollify him enough to avoid a full argument, so I hustle him back into the castle and we head into the healer’s wing to see Cindra. She’s going over some with Yllowei, but looks up when she notices us.

“Clowdy! Have you come to help me learn the difference between feverfew and chamomile?” she asks, taking his hand and dragging him over to the table where Yllowei has spread out a few different sketches of flowers with small petals and fat, bulbous centres. “Nope, still don’t see it.”

“The _leaves_ , Cindra,” Yllowei sighs. “They’re tougher. And you see the stems? The flowers of chamomile are more thin.”

“That one’s feverfew, right?” Clowd points to one of the sketches and Yllowei’s answering grunt gives no hint as to whether he was right or wrong.

_Thank the Starlaxi for Cindra,_ I sigh and wheel around to go find Graie.

He has one eyebrow raised as he waits for me with the horses on the pavilion. I shake my head. “Clowd.”

“Ah.” He passes me Blitz’s lead and we take the horses over to the enchanted leaves to let them drop to the forest floor. We take the ladders seeing as there’s no one to impress around, and then mount the horses and set off into the forest.

As we ride, Graie makes idle chatter. I can’t help thinking of Cindra, though. _She still acts like a kid a lot, but it feels like she grew up when I wasn’t looking._ I know she doesn’t mind spending time with Clowd, but he can still be a handful and I’m impressed by the easy grace with which she manages his moods and pulls distractions out of thin air, seemingly. It makes me a little guilty, actually. _I was supposed to be the one taking care of him. It’s not really fair to pass it all off on Cindra._

I do wonder a bit how Clowd’s going to turn out. He’s certainly got… personality. And a great deal of ego. But that’s preferable to him hating himself because of the way the court whispers when he turns his back. I’d like to think that he’s going to grow out of it. Cindra might be able to help him. Neither of them really fit into their positions in the court, do they?

I’m not as oblivious as Graie or Samn would make me out to be; I might not know anything about the life-span of gods or how they grow up, but it’s obvious that Clowd is aging quicker than everyone else around him. It’s been about eight years since Princesca gave him to me.

Faern’s a year ahead of him at ten years old, but Clowd’s shot past her in height long ago and shows a little more maturity—though I use that word _extremely_ loosely—and sometimes behaves more like a mini-knight than a child. Despite chiding him for it, I can’t deny that the comparison with Thorrin was apt; he and his sister are almost thirteen, yet he doesn’t look that different in features or build from my nephew. I don’t think it will be long before the queen notices and makes Clowd a squire.

“Hey, did you realize what this year marks?” Graie asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Nope. What?”

“We’re twenty-five,” he answers.

I blink. “Okay?”

“You came to Thundria when you were twelve,” Graie continues, then waits for me to catch on. I don’t. He adds, “So it’s been thirteen years that you’ve been at court?”

_Huh._ I hadn’t thought about it in a while. “Well, sure, but I don’t remember a lot of the time I spent with the gods. My earliest memories are from when I was like… four or five, maybe?”

Graie pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s exasperated by me and I let out a half-confused laugh. _What is he driving at?_

“Thirteen years at court, and you came when you were twelve,” Graie repeats. “You’ve officially been a Thundrian longer than you’ve been a god-toy.”

“Oh!” I finally catch on. “Right. I guess I have been… although doesn’t just being born a god-toy make you a god-toy forever?”

“You sound like Darriek,” Graie snorts and I shudder.

“Blessed Starlaxi, perish the thought! Nevermind then, I’m a Thundrian through and through.” We share a laugh.

“Wait, I just caught the trace of something,” Graie says, lowering his voice suddenly and slowing Quicksilver to a trot, then a full stop. I follow suit and wait as he checks the Trace again, and then follow him as he dismounts and leaves the path toward the Rivien sea that we’ve been following.

Graie unslings his bow and notches an arrow, nearly silent, and then fires it into the trees. There’s a rustle, then a fat, dark boar erupts from a bush further along the path. In the split second we have before it disappears again, my instincts kick in and I throw out my left hand, the ruby in my life-force ring glinting as I bring the life-force in the air around us into fire, further down the side of the path to cut off the boar.

It squeals as it comes face to face with the suddenly-ablaze undergrowth, and wheels around to charge us. _Well, shit!_ I backpedal, ready to throw myself into the bushes to escape being gored, but Graie’s already in movement, another arrow notched, and shoots it directly into the boar’s chest, piercing its heart. It stumbles, then collapses right in front of us, squealing.

Graie finishes it off with his hunting knife while I try to catch my breath. _Blessed Starlaxi. That was close._

“Quick thinking!” Graie exclaims admiringly as he gathers up the dead animal in his arms, its blood still pumping over his hands. He pays it no mind. “That was a clever trick with the fire.”

I laugh, a little bit deliriously, and quickly extinguish the bushes by the path before it turns into a forest fire. “Ah, thank you. I didn’t… didn’t really think about it. Just did it. ‘Sides, you were the one that shot it while it was coming to run you through. Well, this’ll be a nice roast for the Riviens. Think they have any of those apples from last week left over to pop in its mouth?”

We rope the boar over Quicksilver’s back and then remount our horses and make out once more for the shore of the Rivien Sea. We don’t find anything else on our way, which is a shame, but I cross my fingers that we'll find something on the way back because the blood on Graie’s hands has crusted and begun to flake off. If someone from our court notices that we’ve come back empty-handed, it’ll be hard to explain away if those empty hands are also covered in boar blood. I guess we could say that we dropped it off for a village, but not finding anything else would put those actions into question.

We leave Blitz and Quicksilver by the treeline and haul the boar down to the pebbled shore, lugging it between us, and wait, sitting on the rocks, and wait for the speck in the distance to grow in size until we can make out Lady Fore, Silaverre, and Sir Feur rowing toward us.

Silaverre hops out of the boat when the water has become shallow enough for her to walk, leaving Leaparra and Sir Feur to bring the boat to shore. The pants of Silaverre’s uniform are instantly soaked, although the design of them stops them from slowing her down and they’ll dry quickly in the heat of the sunshine.

I give her a friendly wave, which she returns, although as she nears I notice her smile looks a little tight. _Huh… What’s wrong now?_

“Lady Fore can help you with that, Sir Harte,” she directs me. “And… Sir Sterrip, let’s speak of when you’ll come next.”

I watch them step out of earshot and feel my heart sink a little. _Does she have news?_ But whatever it is, Graie will tell me later, I’m sure. I grab the back end of the boar as Leaparra takes hold of the front and we carry it to the boat where Stowen waits.

“Freshly caught,” he says, looking over it with a gleam in his eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had boar,” Lady Fore comments, a note of wariness in her tone that I’m amused by.

_Well, it won’t hurt you._ “It’s really good. You should put an apple in its mouth and roast it over a fire, with pepper and garlic.”

Leaparra regards me, almost suspiciously, but when I fail to unsheath my sword and put it through her chest, she nods. “Right. Thanks.”

Silaverre and Graie walk back over to us. Graie looks very distressed by something and Silaverre has her lips pressed tightly together. My heart sinks further. _Bad news._ But I put on a show for the other two Riviens and turn back to them.

“That’s all, then? See you in…” I glance at Graie.

“Eight days,” Graie answers roughly. “We’ll be back in eight days.”

Lady Fore nods, though I don’t doubt that she’s caught the sudden change in Graie’s mood. Silaverre returns to the boat and Sir Feur thanks us before they push off from the shore and start rowing back out toward the horizon. We watch them go in silence for a few minutes, though I can’t help glancing at Graie and trying to read his expression. He looks… worried isn’t the right word. It’s closer to terrified.

Eventually, we leave the shore and find Blitz and Quicksilver grazing on the patch of grass between where the pebbles start and the trees. Graie is silent and I don’t want to grill him just yet. We mount our horses and ride off again down the path we used to get there. I busy myself with checking the fifth dimension for anything edible while Graie continues to stare straight ahead, unblinking.

There’s no trace of anything that I could distract myself with, though; just the plants below and birds above. This region of the forest is considerably denser, trees packed together, too close to one another to allow a horse through, or even a person in some areas, and I can’t catch a glimpse of anything.

Finally, I turn back to Graie, hoping my intuition is wrong. _Should I ask…? What would he do if I was wrong?_ But I take the chance. Anything’s better than this silence.

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

“Yep,” Graie answers tightly.

_Well, shit._ I wish I’d been wrong. A thousand terrible replies pop into my head. _What did you think would happen, Graie?_ “Uh… what are you going to do now?”

Graie shakes his head, looking grim. “I really don’t know, Fiyr. I really don’t know.”

I quiet again. _Well, what is there to say? Half-kingdom children are going to be born, and then the Blacklands will break loose and everything will go to shit. We just have to wait._

We continue the ride in silence. I don’t bother trying to hunt again; how can I? I can only imagine the tumult in Graie’s mind. Does he regret everything? He’s going to be a _father_. The reality of that hasn’t quite set in. Graie. And kids. With the fertility enchantment over all four kingdoms, who knows how many babies he’s suddenly going to have on his hands! Will Silaverre raise them? Won’t Rivier ask questions?

_I hope he sorts this out._ The feeling in my chest now… it’s more than sympathy. It’s fear on his behalf, for the future, for his place in the court, and for his unborn children. And that’s all assuming the pregnancy goes _well_. Who knows what could happen? But I don’t want to think about that now. I just want to get back to the castle and forget about all this.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like today’s problems are finished just yet.

We’re about half way back to the castle when I hear hoofbeats coming toward us. I check the Trace and there’s a distant, approaching trace of a not-god boy… _For the love of the Starlaxi, why is he coming after us?_

Clowd rounds the corner on Marble, Lady Faise’s horse, and with a bit of trouble, pulls her to a halt. He looks pleased with himself but I frown.

“Clowd! What are you doing?” I demand.

“I told you I’m big enough! I followed you all the way here,” he exclaims. “Hey, what’s with your weird trace?”

I freeze. _Can he sense the Rivien trace?_

And then things go from bad to worse.

“That’s Rivien trace, Clowd,” a voice rumbles and my stomach sinks into my boots as Sir Tigre Cawle rides around the same bend in the path, his amber eyes sparkling as we realize we’ve been caught. “So, Sir Sterrip and Sir Harte, why don’t you explain to _both_ of us, what you were just doing?”


	12. Chapter 11 - Cindra

Chapter 11 - Cindra

I’m just returning the toys that Rhane, Siotos, and Sarola left in the healer’s wing this morning to the nursery when the castle doors burst open and Sir Cawle saunters in with Fiyr, Sir Sterrip, and Clowd in tow. Graie looks ashen, Fiyr looks nervous, and Clowd looks defiant. I watch them go, wondering what happened. _Let me guess. Fiyr and Graie were out doing something, possibly related to Sir Cawle’s treachery, and Clowd followed them, then they all got caught by him._

I can only hope that Sir Cawle didn’t get a chance to destroy whatever evidence Fiyr and Sir Sterrip might’ve dug up.

Sir Cawle, for his part, looks terribly pleased. I’m pretty sure it’s just because he got the chance to punish Fiyr, Sir Sterrip, _and_ Clowd, all in one go. He practically parades them over to the queen’s private quarters and the four of them disappear through the heavy door behind the throne.

I watch the door for a few more moments, but I know that whatever discussion is going on in there, it’ll take longer than I’m willing to wait. I turn and head to the nursery instead to give back the toys to a harried-looking Willowamina, and then return to the healer’s wing.

Lady Fennen’s doing a cleanse of all the shelves in the storage area, which involves removing every last jar, packet, bowl, or bar of medicine and leaving them on all available surfaces in the healer’s wing so that she can scrub the shelves. I really don’t share her enthusiasm for cleaning, but I’d take that over waiting for Fiyr and the other two to return from the queen’s chamber.

I take up a rag from her without comment and start on the opposite wall. Lady Fennen’s crouched over a lower shelf and I can’t help being concerned for her back, but I know she’ll chew my head off if I suggest that I take over for her, so I start scrubbing.

After about half an hour of working at the strange, hard black gunk that’s formed at the back of the shelves with little result, I throw in the towel, literally, and walk out of the healer’s wing to go find Fiyr and Sir Sterrip.

I find them without too much trouble because they’re arguing loudly in the throne room with Liang Teyl.

“You’re squires again! That means you have to listen to me!” Sir Teyl declares.

“Not a chance,” Fiyr shoots back. “It just means we’re sleeping in the squire’s wing and doing extra duties. You can’t order us around, asshole.”

Before Sir Teyl whips out _Longtail_ , I interrupt.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” I demand, trying for a commanding tone. It comes out a squeak.

Sir Teyl turns to me with a grin. “Fiyr and Graie are squires again, as punishment for sneaking around Rivier. I was just _kindly_ asking them to go get me some lunch.”

It would be nice to slap the grin off his face, but I resist. _Squires? Well, then…_ “Oh, good! I was looking for some squires; Lady Fennen’s doing the first aid course for the eldest squires today. Come on.” I wave for Fiyr and Graie to follow me. Liang won’t be deterred so fast.

“Now, wait a minute, I was—” Sir Teyl snaps.

“Take it up with Lady Fennen,” I answer. He frowns and seems to think better of his argument at the prospect of arguing with the old healer.

“But—” Before Sir Teyl can wriggle out of it, I turn on my heel and walk off, back to the healer’s wing. And I might be clacking my staff against the stones extra hard just to emphasize it, but that’s between me and the Starlaxi.

I don’t bother looking back to see if Fiyr or Sir Sterrip are following me, but Fiyr catches up after a moment and claps me on the shoulder lightly.

“Thanks for the save.”

“Did he say you were _squires_ now? Why?” I ask and we walk into the healer’s wing.

Graie and Fiyr exchange a look. Fiyr answers, “Long story. We’ll tell you in a minute.”

“I saw Sir Cawle bring you and Clowd in. What was that about?”

I sit down on a cot, far enough from where Lady Fennen is still scrubbing away at the shelves in the storage room that we have some privacy, and the two of them sit down opposite me. It’s then that I notice Graie’s face; he looks terrible, pale and almost green, like he’s about to throw up. _What?_

“Sir Cawle is a terror,” Fiyr groans. “Graie and I were… out doing something, and Clowd followed us, and then Sir Cawle followed _Clowd_ , and then the queen punished us.”

I blink. “For leaving the castle?”

Fiyr shakes his head. “No, we… we were meeting Riviens by the border. He sensed the Rivien trace on us.”

“Did you go back to talk to Lady Feot or Lady Paolle?” I drop my voice to a whisper. _So they_ were _going to dig up more dirt on Sir Cawle! I wonder if they know who Meistya and Stowen’s real parents are!_

“No… it was something else,” Fiyr admits, his eyes darting to Graie.

“Does it have something to do with why he looks like he’s about to throw up?” I ask, motioning to Graie.

“Well…” Fiyr hesitates.

Graie lets out a bleak laugh. It’s the first noise I’ve heard from him since they got back to the castle. “Might as well tell her, Fiyr, it’ll be all over the kingdoms in nine months or so.”  
_Nine months?_

Fiyr glances between us, still unsure, and Graie sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looks me dead in the eye. I fight the urge to flinch and wait for him to speak.

“I’m going to be a father.”

I blink. “Okay?” _With who? There’s no one his age at court… Did he get a villager pregnant or something?_ “Who’s the mother?”

Graie’s jaw tightens a fraction. “King Crukkedaro’s only daughter.”

It’s a good thing I’m already sitting down, because that little declaration definitely would have knocked me flat if I was on my feet. It’s so absurd I almost laugh, but I know that would go over badly. Instead, I try to gather my thoughts as my jaw dangles.

“Well that’s… not what I expected to hear when I woke up this morning,” I admit, mind racing. “So, wait, are you saying that _Sir Cawle found out?!_ And the queen only demoted you?”

Graie shakes his head. “No, no, nobody knows except you and Fiyr. And Sila, obviously. No, she punished us because we were giving food to Riviens. Queen was livid.”

“What? What in the name of the Starlaxi?” I’m so confused. “So… wait. Let me get this straight. We know that there’s a connection between Lady Feot and Sir Feur to Thundria and possibly Sir Cawle, you’re also having kids with a Rivien, _and_ you’re giving them food? Why? Is this connected?”

Fiyr gives a half-laugh. “Right. I guess I haven’t really told you what we’ve been doing lately. The food thing is unrelated to Sir Cawle. Remember when we saved those Rivien kids from the flooded gorge a couple months ago?”

I nod.

“Well, while we were there, we found out that they’re starving. Their waters are corrupted by the gods and it’s thrown the islands’ economies into chaos,” Fiyr explains. “We’re giving them food until they can figure out how to fix the water problem. Uh… don’t tell anyone about all this.”

_What…? Why do they keep breaking the knight’s code and then dragging me into it?_ I can’t deny it’s flattering to be trusted with such potentially dangerous secrets, though. “Blessed Starlaxi. Have you told Lady Schorme about this?”

“What? No, why?”

“Er, no reason. Okay. So you got caught by Sir Cawle, he sensed your Rivien trace, dragged you back to the castle, and now you have to do squire duties,” I restate. “Well. Could be worse.”

Fiyr frowns. “You could say that about most situations.”

Graie scoffs. “Not mine.”

I keep my thoughts about the little bits of information about the ways that early pregnancies can go wrong that Lady Fennen taught me to myself. _I’m sure he’s already panicking enough._ “No, I mean… at least Sir Cawle and the queen don’t know about the…” I lower my voice, “ _pregnancy._ And she can’t keep you two in the squire wing forever.”

Fiyr runs his hands through his hair anxiously but seems to agree. “I know, you’re right, but… we really need to do something about Sir Cawle.”

“I agree,” Graie murmurs.  
I shift uncomfortably. “What is there to be done? You’ve already got proof and the queen doesn’t believe you. Do you really think _more_ proof is going to change anything?”

They exchange a look and then Fiyr sighs. “I guess… not.”

“And if we keep sniffing around… well, what if he gets suspicious? And… you know, _does_ something?” I continue, my voice getting a little higher as the gravity of the situation sets in. “We might be in real danger. Isn’t it best to wait until he makes a move? Then we can bring that to the queen to prove she can’t deny it any longer.”

Fiyr’s look of uncertainty deepens. “But what if that move involves murder? We can’t…” He must see my expression because he quickly adds, “Well, let’s talk about it later. What about the Meistya and Stowen thing?”

Sir Sterrip interjects, “Do you think that’s at all related to Sir Cawle, though? I know Sir Hahrte mentioned it in the battle, but I get the feeling that was just a coincidence.”

“What about all this business with feeding Riviens?” I lower my voice and check over my shoulder to make sure that Lady Fennen is still busy in the backroom. “Have you spoken with either Lady Feot or Sir Feur?”  
Fiyr shakes his head. “We have, but I don’t think even _they_ know that they’re not exactly Rivien.”

_Hmm…_ A thought suddenly comes to me, although it’s so ridiculous I nearly brush it aside, but then pause. “How did Queen Bluelianna react when Sir Cawle told her you two had been talking to Riviens?”

Sir Sterrip shrugs. “She seemed angry that we’d gone behind her back. And worried.”

“Actually, now that you mention it,” Fiyr adds, “she seemed worried about _Rivier_. I wonder if she saw something at the last Gathering that made her think they weren’t getting enough to eat.”

_Or…_ I remember how anxious she was when Lady Fennen and I told her about the flooded gorge, and then again when she received the letter a few months back when Fiyr and Graie went to investigate it. “Okay… this is going to sound insane, but hear me out.” I hesitate. I’ve got their attention now, that’s for sure. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, given what a ridiculous thing I’m about to say. “Do you think it’s possible that… the queen is their mother?”

Neither speak for a moment. They just blink like owls, then Sir Sterrip scoffs. “Really? The _queen?_ ”

I stick my tongue out at him. “I was just thinking out loud!”

“I mean… I guess it’s technically possible,” Fiyr says, although I don’t think he could sound more doubtful if he tried. “But who do you think the father is? And why would she have given them up?”

No answers to his questions spring to mind, so I shrug. “Right, never mind. Stupid thought. Well, I guess you need shelter from Sir Teyl for the rest of the day, so do you actually wanna learn some remedies? Or help Lady Fennen scrub the shelves in the store room?”

“Sure!” Fiyr agrees easily.

“I’m going to go lie down, actually,” Sir Sterrip says, beginning to stand. “I need to… think. Sorry, Cindra. I’ll see you later.”

The last part is directed at Fiyr, who nods, although he looks worried for him. I don’t blame him—I’m still floored and it’s not even happening to me. I wonder what Graie’s thinking right now. I’d be panicking, if I were him; I’m actually surprised he’s not bouncing off the walls and screaming. Actually, I have half a mind to chase him down and try to tell him everything I know about caring for a lady expecting.

On the other hand, since she’s a Rivien, Med Frer will take care of her. I’ve seen him at Gatherings, but my real knowledge of him comes from what Lady Fennen’s told me. She said it was about knowing the differences between approaches to treatment in the courts, although it sounded like gossip to me.

“ _Med Raninn Naos of Shodawa. Emulation alchemy; he can ‘borrow’ other people’s life-force.”_

_“Should you be telling me this? Shodawa was your—”_

_“If loyalty was my top priority, I would have led a very different life, girl. As I say, Med Naos borrows other’s life-force. He was a slow learner, but he knows a great deal. Med Barrik Feas of Wynnd. Protection alchemy or skin elementalism.”_

_“Did you say_ skin?! _”_

_“Yes, it’s not certain, but from the rumours that have got around, he has some kind of ability to change how a person is protected from the elements. Which could be either due to a specific type of alchemy or… well, skin elementalism.”_

_“Wouldn’t that be skin summoning? Since skin is living tissue?”_

_“Did you pay any attention at all in your lessons with Sir Harte? Summoning is only animals or plants. Not_ pieces _of animals. That would be horrifying.”_

_“But skin elementalism isn’t…?”_

_“Pay attention! He could have been a fearsome knight, we must thank the Starlaxi his interests lay elsewhere. Speaking of which. Med Mede Frer of Rivier. Do you know anything about him?”_

_“No. He’s an older healer, right?”_ I wonder if his court calls him Med-Med.

_“He has only been a healer for a few decades. He was a knight first and fathered Lady Leaparra Fore.”_

_“What?”_

_“What are they teaching squires these days?_ Yes _, girl, he was a knight first. Not much is known about his life-force. But he is an extremely skilled healer. If you are ever in a situation to learn from him, take advantage.”_

“Cindra?”

I blink. “Huh?”

“I said, do you mind if I go check on Graie?” Fiyr repeats.

“What? No, of course not. Go,” I say, shooing him off and standing, turning to head to the back of the healer’s wing to help Lady Fennen with the store room when a figure suddenly appears in the doorway of the wing.

Sir Cawle. I try not to react and force myself to look back toward Lady Fennen. I’m acutely aware of his presence as I walk to the back of the wing, but I don’t turn around again. It’s not until I’m halfway into the store room that I risk a glance backward.

The formidable knight has seated himself next to the secluded cot where the blinded king spends his days, prisoner. I watch them for a moment, holding my breath and waiting for Sir Cawle to make a move. He doesn’t, though. He just starts talking softly. I can only make out a few words; his already-deep voice practically disappears into the air.

“And… been treating… well?” he asks the exiled king.

Braukkin’s response is even softer and I can only hear a soft murmur. I tear my eyes away before Sir Cawle notices me gawking at them and dart back into the store room.

“Lady Fennen? Do you need help?” I ask nervously, my heart still beating quickly.

She straightens up and stretches. I think I hear her back crack. “Of course, girl, you think I have finished on my own? Take a cloth and start cleaning.”

I sigh. _Should’ve known._ Grabbing the green rag that’s hanging over the edge of the bucket where I left it, I get back to work on the hard black slime. Eventually, I give up on the rag and start scraping at it with the edge of my nail. My fingers are filthy by the end of it, but even Lady Fennen seems impressed and I’m pleased with my efforts.

She begins to replace the jars and bundles that are spread on the dusty floor around us and I leave the store room to stretch and get something to eat.

Sir Cawle is still speaking with Braukkin. His back is to me, but I’m going to have to pass them to get back to the throne room… I shiver. _Don’t be stupid, Cindra. They’re just talking. Relax_. I gather my confidence and walk across the healer’s wing. As I near Sir Cawle, he seems not to notice me, too engrossed in his conversation with Braukkin.

“...made contact with several mercenaries. If we strike together, the court will—” He breaks off.

I freeze.

Sir Cawle turns slightly. He doesn’t look up, but I don’t doubt that he’s seen me.

Abandoning my courage, I grab my skirts and run out of the healer’s wing like a toddler that had a nightmare. When I burst into the throne room, I stop and try to take a deep breath. My heart’s racing. _What was he talking about?_

Knowing what I know…

_Treason?_ Is he gathering the blinded ex-king’s support for his plot against Thundria? Surely not. Does he think that I’m on to him? _Will he try to silence me?_ Adrenaline pulses through me but I force my heart rate down and try to think.

_He can’t know how much I overheard. He wouldn’t actually try to… would he? Am I in danger?_ I lean back against the doorframe of the healer’s wing, taking a deep breath. _He won’t. I’ll tell Fiyr._

A small cry escapes me when Sir Cawle suddenly appears next to me, walking out of the healer’s wing. He pauses when he notices me next to me and turns. He looks down at me, seeming to consider something, then asks lowly,

“Could I have a word with you?”

“Of course,” I answer, my voice choked off. My palms are getting sweaty.

Sir Cawle walks around to face me and I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped against the doorframe. He’s keeping his distance, at least, and there are plenty of other people milling about the throne room, but still.

“I just… wanted to say how terribly sorry I am. I know your brother is almost of age to be knighted,” he says.

I try not to shake. “Yes, sir.”

“You would have been with him had it not been for… for that terrible, terrible accident,” he says gravely, shaking his head. He doesn’t need to gesture to my leg for me to know exactly what he’s talking about.

I want to be angry; how dare he call it an accident when we both know full well who was at fault? But every bit of fire in me has drowned in his deadly gaze—I’m just frozen still, scared.

“Yes, sir,” I repeat, quieter.

“Our lives are so easily changed,” he muses, not releasing my gaze. “One moment, a bright future… the next, everything is… well, snuffed out.”

I nod, my mouth drying.

“But as I say. A terrible accident, and I hope you find your place at court before…” He pauses, as if searching for the right words. “Before _too_ long.”

I don’t have time to react before he pulls away and disappears into the court. I press a hand to my chest instinctively to feel my heart pumping like a trapped rabbit against my ribcage. _What did he mean by_ too _long?_ I swallow hard, squeezing my hands into fists and feeling helpless. _What do I do?_ His trace, sharp and sickly sweet with a rotting undertone hangs in the air around me and I suck in a breath.

I need to tell Fiyr. But what can _he_ do? Panic begins to set in, but I gather my resolve. _I know that Sir Cawle’s a plotter. He plans. He waits. I have time to figure out what to do._ But I can’t help feeling like a mouse in the shadow of the hawk. I might have a few moments before it dives, but it’s only putting off the inevitable.


	13. Chapter 12 - Cindra

Chapter 12 - Cindra

Whatever Fiyr and Graie are talking about, it takes them into the night and I lie down in my bed in the squire’s nook without having spoken to Fiyr about my confrontation with Sir Cawle. It takes a while before the freshness of the memory of Sir Cawle’s words fades enough to let me sleep.

When I wake the next morning, it’s still on my mind.

I get dressed quickly, completely focused on one thing; find Fiyr and tell him what happened. Once he knows, we can do something about it—we can make a plan. I’ll be safe. _Safer_ , at least. I leave the squire’s nook without bothering with the morning prayer to the Starlaxi that Lady Fennen keeps trying to convince me to do and start my search for Fiyr.

The sun rose a couple hours ago and the court’s activity is already in full swing. Most people are waiting for their day’s assignment from Sir Cawle or in the dining hall. I start there, but I can only find Lady Schorme and Sir Peyelt eating together. Neither Sir Sterrip nor Fiyr are with them.

I scan the throne room again, but I still don’t see Fiyr.

_Where is he?_ A sinking feeling begins in my stomach.

I race up the stairs to the knights’ wing, taking them two at a time and feeling dread build in my stomach. When I knock on Fiyr’s door and get no answer, my fear is confirmed. _He must be out on an early patrol._

I know I’m overreacting; Sir Cawle’s not going to try anything immediately, surely? I can wait until Fiyr gets back. But still, the longer that I’m alone in knowing I might be in danger, the worse I feel. _Whoever said ‘things will look better in the morning’ has never had their life maybe-threatened._

But I try to take a deep breath all the same and refocus myself. I leave the knights’ wing and walk back down to the throne room. _I’m safe right now. Fiyr will be back soon._

“Cindra!” the queen calls out to me when I return to the throne room.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” I walk over to where she stands on the dais and curtsy.

“Sir Cawle is taking a patrol to check on the path to the solstice pavilion. I thought you might like to accompany them! The ride won’t be strenuous, and I’m sure performing a knight’s duty will be a relief after being cooped up with Lady Fennen for so long!” The queen’s eyes are sparkling, like she’s giving me a great gift.

I swallow hard. “I… I—um, okay.”

“Excellent. Sir Cawle’s waiting with the patrol by the main doors,” the queen says, giving me another smile.

She seems in good spirits. I don’t think it could be in more sharp contrast to how I’m feeling at the prospect of being sent out on patrol with Sir Cawle. _But it’s a patrol, she said,_ I remind myself. _I’m not going out alone with him. And we’re just checking the path—that’s not dangerous._

I take a deep breath and curtsy to the queen again, then turn to go face Sir Cawle. I gather my courage as I go. _You’re going to be okay. You’ll get through this quick patrol and then you’ll tell Fiyr and he’ll know what to do. He’s known about Sir Cawle for longer than you and he’ll know what we can do._ I breathe out slowly and I feel a little more grounded.

When I pull open the doors of the castle, I’m greeted with the sight of only two figures on the pavilion and my heart clenches. _Shit._ It’s just Sir Cawle and Sir Teyl. I swallow hard and walk toward them.

“Cindra. Ready to go?” Sir Cawle asks, only meeting my eyes for a moment and then looking away once more to scan over the tops of the trees.

“Yeah,” I say softly, glancing at Liang. _Did Sir Cawle say something to him? At least it’s not Sir Styrp. Sir Teyl has always been a little less… hard-edged. Sir Cawle won’t try anything today,_ I repeat to myself.

I go get Ashes and then ride down to the forest floor to where Sir Cawle and Sir Teyl are mounted on Edge and Red Robin respectively. Sir Teyl looks bored. I swallow and wait for Sir Cawle to set off first. We follow him.

As we ride through the forest, I try to start to think of ways to save myself from Sir Cawle that I can suggest to Fiyr when I get a chance to talk to him. _I shouldn’t expect him to save me. I need to find a way to save myself._ I stare at Sir Cawle’s russet uniform pensively.

_Sir Cawle’s way of doing things… he arranged an accident for the queen. He covered up Sir Tayle’s death. It seems like that’s what he does; find a way to make it look like either no one’s fault or someone else’s._ I frown. _So what’s he going to do to me? Things are relatively peaceful with the other kingdoms, aren’t they? King Naitienne got his Nine Blessings, King Tahliorius has always been a friend of Thundria’s and now that we saved them from the other two, surely he’ll feel allied to us? And if Fiyr and Sir Sterrip are saving Rivier from starvation, then they’ll be indebted to us too._

 _So there’s no way he’ll be able to get me killed in battle, right?_ It hardly feels real, contemplating my life like this. But I know Sir Cawle hasn’t stopped for anything yet. If my instincts are right, and I _am_ in danger, I need to stay a step ahead of him. _Then will he try to arrange another accident like the soulpath?_ I shudder, remembering the last moments before I was knocked out. The slip of my boot against the edge of the hollow, then the shattering sound of glass, and then the feeling of a mountain crashing into me.

_But how? I hardly leave the castle at all,_ I think, still staring at his back. _Maybe I should stop going out at all. Or maybe…_ An idea begins to form. _If I had a reason to only ever go out alone or with Lady Fennen…_

 _I need to ask her. I need to ask her to make me her official novitiate. Then the only reason I’d have to go out would be for medicine, and even then I wouldn’t need to take a knight with me. And when Lady Fennen_ does _take a knight, she always chooses one herself. And it’s always Mom. Well, perfect, then!_

Finally, after the panicked daze I’ve been in since I overheard Sir Cawle and Braukkin, I begin to see the sun through the clouds. _I’ll stop being a coward and actually ask Lady Fennen, and then I’ll never have to be alone with Sir Cawle again. I wouldn’t doubt that he’d want to get me out of the picture if he thought I actually overheard something, but I bet he wants to preserve his place at court more than that. So as long as I make it too hard for him to get rid of me, I’ll be safe._

I let out a long breath, feeling some of the stress from the last day leave my body. I can appreciate the warmth of the summer sun all the more, now. Actually, I might be appreciating it too much; my light green dress is soaking up the heat. Just one more reason the girls’ squire uniforms are absolutely ridiculously designed; Fiyr told me practically the day I was squired that it was fine if I wore the boy’s uniform if I wanted to.

It’s hard to fight in a dress, or hunt. Or ride. Or do anything except curtsy and look like a good little lady of the court. _Although I don’t think the dress is helping much._ I’m suddenly conscious of my hair. Mom usually cuts it when it gets long but I’ve gotten so accustomed to just sweeping it behind my ears and forgetting about it that it’s grown out into a shaggy gray mane to rival Lady Fennen’s. _Great._

I put my hand on the back of my head, trying to feel for how long it’s gotten. My hair’s surprisingly hot; the sun must have scorched it during the ride—Lady Fennen’s probably going to be dealing with a lot of sunburns in the next month if the trees are offering this little protection on the main path.

_Well, I’m glad I can worry about my hair at a time like this,_ I scold myself. Although, when the other options of what to focus on are so terrible, the sweat matting my hair to my neck seems like a pretty good choice by comparison. _Besides. Hair is kind of pointless for a healer; I might as well shave it all off._

The reminder is unwelcome, though. Becoming Lady Fennen’s novitiate would be perfect in every way; all my new knowledge would be useful in a tangible way, I could help my court for years to come, and I’d be pretty important. _Perfect in every way except for one._ Maybe that, at its core, is why I’ve been holding off so long on making it official. _Lady Fennen seems to think of me as her novitiate. And I’ve been content to keep it that way without saying it out loud. Because if I was her novitiate, the healer’s code would apply to me._

I think of Fiyr and press my lips together tightly. _No Union. No ceremony. No husband. No kids._ Even though it feels like I’m putting salt into my own wound, I think of Samn. _You wouldn’t have a chance even if you didn’t become a novitiate. You’d still watch from the back of the court as they Unite. And maybe in fifteen years, when you’re sad and lonely enough, you’ll get to choose someone else. Sir Peyelt, maybe. Or worse, Sir Teyl._ I glance at Liang. Classic, straight Thundrian nose. Streaked hair meticulously braided. Dark eyebrows set in pale olive-tone skin. He’s handsome, certainly, but I’d never manage to look past his awful attitude. Even if we were in the sort of Union where the two people avoid each other.

_No. There’s no happy ending for you either way,_ my subconscious reminds me. _But that’s okay. You already knew that you weren’t the sort to get a happy ending anyway. So what does it matter, dwelling on it? I can still be a great healer. I can train hard and learn from Lady Fennen and be respected by the court. At the end of the day, can’t that be enough?_

I sigh. We’re almost to the flooded gorge; then Sir Cawle will see for himself that there’s no getting past it, we can turn around, and then I can tell Fiyr, ask Lady Fennen, and this whole, terrible episode will finally be over.

But I’m not out of the woods yet, it seems. Because when we arrive at the lip of the gorge and Sir Cawle looks down into the rushing waters, he glances back up and a little ways into the distance where the rickety rope bridge stretches across the chasm, swaying in the wind.

“We’ll check if it’s safe to cross,” he decrees.

Despite my earlier assessment, I feel a little closer to Sir Teyl when we share an uncertain look. That rope bridge looks like it’s going to crumble at the slightest touch; it’s not that far down to the surface of the water, only about a ten metre drop, but still. I don’t know of anyone at court who can swim and you’d have to be pretty lucky for the current to sweep you onto one of the ledges or the stairs out of the gorge further down.

Though I know Sir Cawle can see that we have misgivings, he still kicks Edge into a swift pace to close to distance between us and the rope bridge. The closer we get, the more certain I am that this isn’t a viable option; it looks more like a few chunks of wood were strung up with rope than an actual bridge. Multiple planks are evidently missing and the few that remain have been soaked by the spray from the water below.

The current has relaxed since the initial flood and now it meanders rather than thunders back out into the Rivien sea. Still, I know it can be deadly and I glance back at Sir Cawle, worried. _What does he want us to do?_

“Well, another knight’s duty you won’t have trouble with,” Sir Cawle says, dismounting Edge and waving the two of us over to the rope bridge. “Cindra? Why don’t you test it out?”

And then it clicks into place. _I’m an idiot. Why would he wait to get rid of me when such an easy option is right here?_ Dread swells in me, threatening to eat me up in panic. “What?”

“Sir Cawle, surely—” Liang interjects, but Sir Cawle holds up a hand.

“It’s safe, I’m sure. These things always look worse than they are,” he assures me, amber gaze trained on me like a…

Like a hawk.

Fear fills me. I swallow hard and grab my skirts in each shaking hand. “I can’t…”

I look at Liang. He averts his gaze. _Coward._ I look back at Sir Cawle. There’s a forced casualness in his posture and movements, but I can see it in his eyes. _This is the first of many attempts. I’m never going to be safe until he’s driven out of the court._

Trembling, I take a step toward the rope bridge. _It’ll break on the first step. I can jump back and Sir Cawle will need to figure out something else. Liang’s a coward, but Sir Cawle wouldn’t just push me into the gorge in front of him._ Up close, I feel even less confident, though. The first step is onto a half-rotten plank that is laid diagonally across the rope like it came loose.

I grip the ropes that make the side of the bridge, one in each hand, and slowly start to transfer my weight onto the plank. It doesn’t shift beneath my feet and I let out a slow, shaky breath.

“See? The bridge is perfectly sturdy,” Sir Cawle rumbles from behind me.

I want to kill him. “Yep, seems like it is. Okay, let’s go back.” I hop back onto solid ground and can’t help staring down into the swirling waters below. _I’d survive the fall, but… drowning would be an awful way to die._

“No, you’d better make sure it’s possible to get over the spots where the planks are missing,” Sir Cawle says. “Go a little further out.”

“Sir Cawle, I really don’t think…” But Liang falls silent again. I’m still facing the rope bridge, so I don’t see whatever it was that Sir Cawle did to shut him up.

_Right._ I step out onto the first plank, a little more confident now. _Maybe he misjudged. The bridge isn’t_ that _old and if this piece of soggy, half-eaten wood can support my weight, maybe the rest can too._

I take another step, now two planks out over water. I look back nervously, judging if it’s still possible to leap back onto the grassy cliff. Still, the bridge holds. I release the breath I was holding and take a third step. _You’re okay._ If I just forget where I am and what’s happening, I almost feel like this is fine.

_Just one step, and then another._ I don’t look back, but I know I’m too far to be able to get back onto the cliff if the bridge collapses. _Great._ I’ve come to one of the spots where the plank is missing.

The gap is bigger than it looked from the edge of the bridge. I gulp.

“Just get over that and you can come back! It looks like the bridge is strong enough for the court to cross!” Sir Cawle calls.

Adrenaline thrums in my veins. _Is he insane? I feel like I’ve just fought a dragon._ My hands are slicked with sweat but the rough rope soaks it up as my knuckles whiten on them. _No one in their right mind would think that this is a cross that multiple people can make._

All the same, I evaluate the distance between the plank that I’m resting on and the one after the missing space. _If I try to hold onto the ropes… maybe I can stretch one leg out and then haul myself over._ I’m cursing myself for my stupidity. I should’ve told Sir Cawle to fuck off. He could protest or order me around, but he wouldn’t dare attack me, not with Sir Teyl here. And then I wouldn’t be hanging over rushing water, getting ready to make a stupid hop over air to please the man who wants to kill me.

_Shit._

I transfer one hand to the other rope, holding it tightly with both hands. A slight breeze makes the bridge sway and I stay still, sweat creeping down my neck as I wait for it to pass. I stretch out my bad leg uncertainly—I can’t afford to take my weight off my good leg or I might lose my balance, but it’s not going to be easy to pull myself over to the other side if I’m relying on my bad leg. I hold my breath and beg the Starlaxi to save me from the water below, and then…

Just as I begin to lower my bad leg onto the next plank, stretching ridiculously with both hands still squeezing the life out of the rope in front of me, a sudden jerk runs down the length of the bridge. I let out a cry and lurch forward.

My heel hits the plank and a familiar zing of uncomfortable energy shoots up my leg, then I buckle.

“No!” I scream, terrified, and throw my right hand out to grab the other rope to steady myself. I yank it hard, trying to regain my balance, then—

_Snap!_

Then I plunge down, the planks and rope, loosed from their post on one side of the bridge, falling around me and I scream louder, the air catching in my mouth and my skirts whirling around me—

I pitch into the water. It rushes into my open mouth and the sound of my own scream is replaced by the rush of water in my ears. I thrash futilely, my dress suddenly heavy as stone around me, dragging me down. I close my eyes, trying not to breathe in even as my lungs burn—

Arms hook under my armpits and I feel someone behind me. My lungs break down the defenses of my brain at last and I try to take a gasping breath. Water fills my mouth instead and I choke, trying to spit it back out, but there’s only water around me… then my head breaks the surface of the water.

I gasp for air, my lungs ragged with the water I inhaled, and cough, my body wracked with the pressure in my throat. The summer air is hot on my wet, cold skin and I cough again. It takes me a minute to leave the frenzied state of panic and it’s only then that I realize someone’s hauling me to shore. My dress, waterlogged, is slowing our progress, but the current helps and we’re swept through the gorge. My saviour pushes me a little higher above the water and then we crash into the stairs.

The air is knocked out of me as I’m thrown onto the wooden steps and I gasp for breath again, but I’m free of the dizzying movement of the current. The water still washes over us as we grip the stairs, both breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” It’s Sir Teyl.

I cough again, tasting sea water, and pull my soaked hair out of my face. “I—I didn’t know you could swim.”

He blinks. His green uniform is turned almost black with the water and I think I see some algae or something hanging off his head, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “That’s your main concern? You almost died.”

“I know.” I cough again. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Sir Cawle must’ve not realized how unstable it was,” Liang says.

I shoot him my best ‘ _you’ve got to be kidding me_ ’ look. “Seriously?”

“What?”

With a final cough, I haul myself up the stairs and out of the water, then grab as much of my skirts as I can in one fist and wring out the sea water. “We both knew that bridge was twigs on twine. You think the ladies of the court would be okay with trying to walk across that?!”

Sir Teyl blinks. “I guess not, but…”

_I’m wasting breath. Liang would be the last one to actually believe what Sir Cawle’s done._ I give him a long look, then turn around and start marching up the stairs. He scrambles after me.

“You’re welcome,” he grunts and I hear a shower of drops hit the stairs as he wrings out his braid.

_Not like he had a choice. Standing by and letting me drown would’ve been a breach of the knight’s code._ It really hits me, then. _Blessed Starlaxi. I almost died. If Sir Teyl didn’t know how to swim and if the water hadn’t carried me to the stairs…_ I stop dead in my tracks.

“What?” It’s Sir Teyl again.

I feel the urge to cry suddenly but I just say, softly, “I could’ve died.”

“Are you okay?” He sounds uncertain.

I spin on my heel. “Excuse me?! Did you hear me? I could. Have _died_. A few minutes underwater and that would have been the end of me.”

Liang is stricken but he tries to brush it off. “Yeah, I mean… you didn’t, though.”

“No shit,” I snap and turn around again. _No point in talking to him; he’s about as understanding as a loaf of bread._

When we emerge out of the gorge, the sun’s heat has mostly dried me except for my dress which is still soaked in sea water. My sleeves have gotten stiff with salt and I can see the water has discoloured them a bit. _Good. Stupid thing; I’m going to burn it._ That reminds me, I can go lie on some cinders to warm up when we get back to the castle.

Sir Cawle is waiting with our horses.

“Are you alright, Cindra?”

His mock concern makes fury swell inside me, hot enough to warm my cold, wet dress. “Save it.”

His expression doesn’t change. I storm over to Ashes and swing myself atop her, not bothering to ride sidesaddle to avoid having to hike up my dress, then dig my heels into her side. She takes off into the forest and just as I enter the trees, I hear Sir Cawle say from back there,

“I didn’t know you could swim, Liang.”

_I bet you didn’t,_ I think furiously. Finally, the tears come. I let them streak my cheeks—nobody’s going to be around to see anyway. The brush with my own mortality has left me a little more than shaken. _I need to talk to Fiyr right now. And ask Lady Fennen to make me officially her novitiate. And burn this dress. And maybe cry for a while._

…

Sir Cawle blames Liang.

I only know because Liang came to check on me in the healer’s wing after meeting with the queen and explained the whole thing. At least now Sir Teyl seems to think it was unfair— _Great, I’m so glad he sees the problem when he’s being blamed for Sir Cawle’s attempted murder, but not when I almost get killed_ —and we talk for a moment. Sir Teyl still refuses to believe that Sir Cawle did it on purpose when I hint at it, but he’s relieved that Lady Fennen doesn’t think I’ve gotten a chill or anything from my plunge into the water.

I couldn’t stop thinking about asking her to make me her official novitiate the whole time she was checking me over, but for some reason, I just couldn’t get the words out. Worries and insecurities dog me at every turn and I can’t even make eye contact with the fierce old woman without worrying over whether I’m strong or serious enough to be a healer.

Fiyr’s still not back and I can’t help looking over Liang’s shoulder constantly while we talk to see if he returns. The doorway stays empty and eventually Liang leaves, asking me to tell him if my condition worsens.

As he leaves, I contemplate where we stand now. _Huh. Obviously, he’s an idiot if he thinks Sir Cawle totally thought the bridge would support my weight and that it was completely safe. But he did save my life._ And despite my previous declaration that he would have been breaking the knight’s code if he just let me drown, I know that just about everyone else at court would stay frozen in panic. _I still don’t know how he knows how to swim._

Lady Fennen comes back over to where I’m sitting on a cot when Liang is gone.

“How are you feeling?” she asks gruffly.

“Fine,” I answer, still thinking about Sir Teyl. Lady Fennen stands to return to whatever she was doing, but I interrupt. “Can I ask you something…?”

“Of course.”

_Here we go._ I feel silly, sitting on a cot in sleep-clothes, my hair sticky with salt. _This isn’t exactly how I imagined it going. This doesn’t feel very grand and official._ “Um… well, I know that you’ve been teaching me a lot of things in the past few years. And I wanted to…”

“Yes?” Somehow, Lady Fennen seems genuinely puzzled as to what I’m getting at. I would’ve thought it was obvious.

“Would you make me your novitiate?” I burst out.

She stares at me, then begins to laugh, a croaking, raspy laugh. I redden reflexively. _I knew it. She doesn’t want me as a novitiate._

“I thought you were,” she snorts.

_What?_

“Cindra, I have taught you half of all I know—did you think it was for nothing? You do half my work. You brought Sir Eyre his tonic yesterday,” she points.

“Yes, but—”

“And when Sir Harte and Brakken fought the dragon, you treated them first,” she continues.

“I guess, but—”

“You do not wear the uniform, and I haven’t taken you to the Lunar Temple, but that is not the… the _measure_ of a healer,” Lady Fennen continues. “They are merely traditions. You serve your court as a novitiate already.”

I’m stunned. And then remember why I’m asking in the first place. “The court doesn’t know.”

Lady Fennen nods. “This is true. I have… perhaps put too little weight on the traditions. I’ll speak to the queen.”

“So you’ll make me your novitiate?” I ask, hardly daring to breathe. _I’m safe?_

“Of course! You will make a good healer if you can focus on your studies.”

Relief washes over me like a warm breeze and I feel tension ease from between my shoulders. _Thank the Starlaxi._ I let out a slow breath and smile at the old healer. She waves her hand dismissively but I know she’s pleased that I’m happy to be her novitiate.

“Ah,” Lady Fennen pauses and I hold my breath, then she continues, “the queen will call a court meeting for the Gathering soon. Perhaps…” She glances at the back of the healer’s wing. “I found some old novitiate garb when I was cleaning—I believe they belonged to Lady Lief when she was Med Vhiskar’s novitiate.”

I look down at my own sleep-clothes and feel very ragged and scruffy when I think of the beautiful, talented Lady Lief whose reputation as a healer was solid gold after her young death. I don’t remember her very well—our mother told us not to play in the healer’s wing and she died after Brakken and I were kidnapped. I remember that particular incident with a wince. Sir Clehw grabbing us, drinking the water he offered, and then waking up in an unfamiliar room that stank, hearing the sounds of the battle when Thundria came to rescue us… I shudder.

“Cindra?”

I blink, returning to reality. “Oh! Uh, yes?”

Lady Fennen sighs. “As I say, you will be a good healer if your head doesn’t go off to the moon.”

_What?_ “Right, sorry. What were you saying about Lady Lief’s novitiate clothes?”

“You are both small—like little Thundrian acorns,” she comments and I frown, unsure if I should feel insulted by that. “They will fit you. It will do well to present you as a novitiate with the proper uniform, don’t you agree?’

_Oh!_ I feel dumb for not catching on faster. “You’re right. I’ll put them on.”

I think Lady Fennen rasps another laugh as I hurry to the back of the healer’s wing, following her gesture, and find the cupboard where we keep the sheets and pillowcases for the cots. I’ve been in this closet lots, but I never noticed that there’s a pile of colourful fabric on the top shelf. I’m too short to reach. _Damn it._

Aware that Lady Fennen is watching my every move, I grab the stool from beside the store room and position it in front of the shelves. Now, with a clear view of it I can see that there are three copies of the forest green healer’s robes that Lady Fennen wears and, further back and slightly dustier, there’s a neatly folded stack of mint green novitiate’s robes.

Feeling a little more of the dramatic, important feeling that I expected when I asked to be her novitiate, I reach out and pull the robes out of the closet, then step back. And immediately nearly fall off the stool.

“Shit!” I yelp, grabbing the cupboard door to steady myself, heart pounding.

Trying to retain my dignity, I carefully lower myself off the stool and return it to its place by the store room. Lady Fennen watches silently, although I think I see the corner of her mouth twitching. I frown at her and then leave the wing to put on the robes in my nook.

I pass Brakken as I enter the squire’s common room. He notices what I’m holding and gives me a questioning look.

“I asked her to make it official,” I whisper excitedly to him.

His face lights up. “Congratulations! Is she going to announce it at the court meeting?”

“I think so.”

We share a look and I feel lighter as I pull the curtain of my nook closed and strip out of the dry sleep-clothes Lady Fennen gave me. The plunge into the gorge feels worlds away. _I’m safe now. Sir Cawle can’t touch me. No one can touch me._

I look down at the robes and lay them out on my bed reverently. A fitted, pale green dress with the Thundrian emblem embroidered in the neckline. A white apron, pristine save for the lines where the folds were made years ago. And the heavier mint green robes that are meant to be worn over top. I remember Lady Lief wearing these and I smooth the fabric, lost in thought for a moment, then I stand and lift up the dress to pull it over my undershirt.

Then I pause, catching my own gaze in the mirror. My hair is still ruffled from how it dried and I managed to get flecks of mud on my face on the ride back. And then of course, there’s just the general look of my face; lumpy nose, blue eyes that make me permanently look unfocused, and blemished skin that’s _mostly_ cleared up in the past few years. I’m sure the mud on my face is doing it no favours.

I grab the cloth out of the basin on top of my dresser and quickly scrub my face. That gets rid of the mud, although it only discolours my face more and redder patches appear to combat the otherwise even brown tone of my skin. _Awesome._

Scolding myself internally for my vanity, I rake my comb through my frizzy hair in hopes to bring it somewhere nearer to ‘presentable’ and then hastily dress myself in the novitiate dress and apron. I’m halfway through deciding whether I should wear the heavy robes or not when Queen Bluelianna’s amplified voice rings through the wing.

I snap to attention and drop the robes on the bed. _It’s summer. Lady Fennen only wears them indoors—they wouldn’t think that I’d need them. Oh balls, I hope I’m not messing up my first thing as a novitiate._

Sending a quick prayer to the Starlaxi, I pull open the curtain to my nook and avoid Sewif’s puzzled look as I stride out into the throne room. And then discreetly wipe my sweaty hands on the apron. Most of everyone is already assembled so nobody sees me when I enter the throne room, except Sewif and Brakken, who seems like he’s been waiting and waves me over. We share a smile and I feel a fizz of excited energy.

“Tonight is the summer solstice,” the queen declares. “I have made a list of knights, squires, ladies, and elders who shall attend. But before that, Lady Fennen has an announcement.”

Curious whispers begin as Lady Fennen hobbles her way onto the dais and casts her fierce gaze over the crowd.

She begins to speak, her voice low and raspy, and the court falls silent. “As you know, for many years, young Cindra has been in… in _limbo_. She has been helping me in the way that a novitiate would for a long time now, but it was brought to my attention that I never made it official. At the next equinox, we will travel to the Lunar Temple together for the ceremony and her status as my novitiate will be recognized in the eyes of the Starlaxi.”

The murmurs in the court return and people start looking around. It’s only after several gazes land on me and stick that I realize they’re looking for me. I redden and give Sir Wynnd and Lady Flourer, who are now looking at me like they’ve never seen me before, a little wave. Then I catch Fiyr’s eyes.

I swallow hard as his face splits into an enormous smile and try to match it. I’m delighted. But… it’s bittersweet. Especially since he’s standing with Samn and Briatte.

“Congratulations, Cindra,” Sir Teyl offers.

“Thank you,” I answer, still looking at Fiyr.

“You’ll be a wonderful healer,” the queen agrees from the dais. “And as for the Gathering… well, I suppose we can get to that in a moment.”

I’m overwhelmed by how much of the court wants to clap me on the back or shake my hand or offer advice and encouragement. I try to answer everybody, flustered, and eventually the tide ends at Fiyr.

“You’re going to be amazing,” he tells me, going straight for the hug. “I’m so proud to have mentored you, even for a little while.”

I hug him and then pull back, trying to push back against the tears threatening to pool in my eyes. “Thanks.”

“Alright,” the queen says, knocking her sceptre against the ground in an effort to return the attention to herself. “Thank you, Cindra, I’m certain you’ll serve our court brilliantly.” Lady Fennen shoots the queen a look. “Alongside Lady Fennen, of course. Ahem.”

My eyes linger on Fiyr even as the queen draws back the attention of everyone else. _It’s really over then. But after all, nothing_ started _, did it?_


	14. Chapter 13 - Fiyr

Chapter 13 - Fiyr

Graie and I returned from a long day of hunting through the back door and found everyone congregated in the throne room. Then, after everyone’s congratulated Cindra and I manage to suppress the urge to burst into happy tears, the queen commands our attention once more.

“As I said, tonight is the solstice,” she begins. “Sir Cawle took a small patrol to check on the state of the crossing through the gorge and they determined that it is impassable. Even so, we will find another path. Thundria cannot be absent from the Gathering.”

The court is nodding around me but I feel uneasy. _Really? Hasn’t it been a tradition that if the Starlaxi covers the moon, we can’t go? I feel like a giant flooded gorge is an even stronger message that we shouldn’t be there tonight._

But if Queen Bluelianna shares my misgivings, she sure isn’t showing it, because she produces a piece of parchment and begins to read off the names of the attendees.

“Sir Cawle, Sir Strommer, Sir Styrp, Lady Fyrra and her squire, Lady Peilte, Sir Harte, Lady Schorme and her squire, Sir Sterrip, Sir Tyle, and Lady Tayel will attend, as well as our healer. Next Gathering, Cindra will come too.” At the last comment, the queen smiles at her.

I resist the urge to groan—it’s been a long day and I was kind of looking forward to eating a quick dinner alone or with Graie, and then going to bed. I have a bad feeling about this Gathering in general, even though I know we’re all at peace and Rivier in particular won’t be starting any trouble with us given what Graie and I have been doing for them. _I guess this saves Graie and Silaverre from worrying about a battle between the courts…_

Nevertheless, the queen disappears into her private chambers to change for the Gathering and I head for the knights’ wing, thinking to at least get a quick wash in before we leave. Even the light summer uniform, composed only of the white undershirt and green tunic, seems to soak up the heat. And my sweat.

Before I can change into plain-clothes for the Gathering, Cindra catches me.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks, her tone a stark contrast to the celebration of her new position that took place mere minutes ago.

“Of course…” I begin. “But we’re leaving in a minute.”

She fidgets. “Well, can we sit down for that minute and talk?”

Worry begins to rise in me. Cindra seems very nervous about something and I don’t want to have to rush off in the middle of a heart-to-heart. “Er, okay, we can go to my room. I need to change, though, so turn around.”

She half-laughs, although it sounds forced, and trails after me as we leave the throne room and I lead her through the wing to the hallway where my room is. She sits on my bed, picking at the novitiate’s clothing and staring down at the fabric. I pull open my drawer and toss the plain-clothes that I jammed to the back onto the bed, then start stripping off my tunic.

“Oh, great Starlaxi, you were serious!” Cindra lets out a yelp of real laughter and shields her eyes.

“Yeah, we have to go in like, five minutes!” I exclaim, peeling off my undershirt. _Ew. I definitely need to wash this._ “What did you want to talk to me about?”

But just as she’s opening her mouth, still covering her eyes, the queen’s voice booms through the room, startling me. I get tangled in my plain-clothes shirt and nearly tumble over, but right myself and pull it down over my chest. “I have to go—damn it. Can it wait? If it’s urgent, I’ll stay. Oh, and I’m done changing. You can uncover your eyes.”

Cindra drops her hands and sighs. “No, it can wait. You should go. But I’ll be waiting, and when you get back, we are going to sit and talk and if anyone interrupts us, I will shove cinders where the sun don’t shine.”

I blink. “Oh. Fun. Well, I’ll be back soon, and then we can talk, okay? I’ll see you later.”

She purses her lips and nods, then stands and hurries out of the room. I watch her go, getting nervous. _She’s covering it well, but something’s really bothering her. But… if she said it can wait, I trust her._ Nonetheless, it doesn’t sit well with me as I dash down the stairs and join the Gathering patrol in the throne room.

“Hey!” Samn greets me.

“Hey,” I return distractedly. _But what could’ve happened? What would make her so worried? Is it about Sir Cawle?_

Samn clears her throat.

“Oh, sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you think we’ll even make it to the solstice pavilion.”

I blink. “Well, Graie and I commandeered a rowboat through that gorge, and nearly got ourselves killed, plus the two kids we picked up along the way, and I can tell you first-hand, that thing’s not letting anything through. Not dry, at least.”

Samn snorts. “I’ll take your word for it. Maybe there’s another way, though—the gorge curves inward, doesn’t it?”

“I.. can’t remember,” I admit, trying to picture a map of Thundria in my mind. “That’s Graie’s area of expertise. Ask him, although be prepared to be sucked into a discussion about the various inefficiencies in the network of trade routes in the west forests.”

Samn groans. “I’m already bored. I’ll stick with you.”

“Good choice,” I tease. “I can bore you with explanations of how the style of uniforms changed over the decades in each kingdom and why.”

“Spare me.”

“Did you know that our captains used to wear one-shouldered, scarlet cloaks?” I tell her. Samn clutches her ears. As we talk, we follow the cluster of the court out to the stables to get our horses. The summer night’s air hits me like an updraft; it’s warm and muggy, and the stars are already twinkling overhead despite the sun only having been below the horizon for a half hour or so. It’s a pleasant night, but I know from experience that I’m going to be covered in sweat and mosquitoes very soon.

“You’re a monster, I hope you know that.”

“They were cool! I don’t know why we got rid of them!”

“They sound vastly impractical for battle.”

I _pshaw_. “So? I think I’d look great in a one-shouldered scarlet cloak.”

Samn gives me a look. “What, you want to be captain?”

I’m about to snort at the suggestion, but then pause and consider it. “I dunno. Maybe.”

“The Starlaxi help us all, in that case,” Samn deadpans and I elbow her, but she dodges out of the way and mounts Dune.

“Don’t burst my bubble! I think I would make a good captain, don’t you? Giving orders. Wearing the russet uniform.” I wave my hand for effect, though Samn is unimpressed.

“Is it mostly because you want the uniform?”

“Desperately.”

As we follow the court through the hole in the trees to drop to the forest floor, Samn laughs, one of the most carefree sounds I’ve heard from her in a long time, and I smile. The queen, from the head of the patrol, nudges her horse on faster and we all follow suit, thundering down the path toward the pavilion. We’re going to meet the edge of the gorge if the queen doesn’t redirect us. “You are so predictable. Keep working on that promotion.”

Sobering, I glance at Sir Cawle. “Yeah, I will. I… actually, Cindra seemed freaked out, and I’m wondering if it had something to do with him.”

“Huh? But she was so happy at the court meeting.”

I shake my head. “She said there was something she needed to talk to me about. And it definitely wasn’t something good.”

Samn’s brow creases in worry. “Oh no.”

“Nothing I can do until I know what it is, though,” I add. “And she said it could wait, so hopefully she isn’t in immediate danger.”

A whistling breath is released from between Samn’s teeth. “Blessed Starlaxi.”

“What?”

“That’s our metric for how bad things are? Whether or not we’re in _immediate_ danger?” Samn shakes her head. “We need to get rid of him.”

“Well, we don’t _know_ that Sir Cawle’s involved,” I answer, lowering my voice and nudging Blitz a little closer to Dune. “Maybe it’s something else.”

“I hope not.”

I fall silent, though I share the sentiment. I don’t want things getting any worse while we’re still entangled in this Sir Cawle mess. And I desperately want to protect Cindra. _What happened to her?_

As I focus on the path up ahead, I realize that the queen has changed our direction, little by little, and we’re now slanting toward the Shodawes trace-line. _And the soulpath,_ I think, shuddering.

“Where’s Briatte?” I ask. “Is this her first Gathering?”

“No,” Samn answers. “She’s up there.”

Samn nods her head to the figures closer to the front of the patrol and over to the right. I can make out the forms of Briatte, Sewif, and Thorrin. As far as I can tell, Sewif is delivering one of his sermons to his rapt audience.

“Oh no, you should save your squire,” I comment with a laugh.

Samn shudders. “No, she _likes_ him. I have been on _so_. _Many._ Joint training sessions with Liang.”

I suck in a sympathetic breath. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She scoffs. “Talk to me when you’ve put up with Liang for a few hours.”

“And yet his head remains on his shoulders,” I observe. “You have incredible restraint.”

“One of my many talents.”

I laugh and we pull on the reins of our horses to slow them to a trot as the head of the patrol stops. Soon, we’re all bunched up together, horses pawing the dirt nervously and every gaze on the queen to see how she wants us to get to the pavilion.

“The soulpath is flooded!” The queen’s voice echoes over our patrol and Samn and I exchange worried glances. “We cannot cross here. But further up, I believe there is a place where we might cross safely.”

I know the spot she’s talking about; there’s some kind of rupture in the soulpath, though I cannot guess whether it was by design or not. The way the pearly glass paths work is still a mystery to me, but whatever it was, the gods seem to be in no hurry to replace the missing segment, so I have to guess the small stretch of untouched land serves another purpose. But there’s another thing I know about that spot—

The other side of it is Shodawes territory.

The rest of the court is no less surprised by the queen’s suggestion and I hear rising murmurs. Lady Fyrra calls, “Into Shodawes territory?”

Queen Bluelianna clears her throat, waiting for us to settle down. “The solstice puts a truce over the kingdoms for one night. This extends beyond the pavilion; Shodawa is honourable once more and they will allow us to pass. I am confident in it.”

The murmurs mostly quiet, but Samn still looks uneasy and I can’t help sharing her concern. Truce or not, Shodawa is not going to be happy to see us in their precious forests. Even if we’re barely on the territory at all. But the queen is already leading the patrol up a hill that is mostly free of trees, following the glowing line that the soulpath cuts through the dark grass in the moonlight.

We reach the break in the soulpath; it’s too small to let more than two or three of us on horseback through at once, so we form a line and watch as our court trickles, little by little, into the territory of the enemy.

When it’s time for Samn and I to cross the trace-line, I suck in one last lungful of Thundrian air and steel my resolve. I know I’m being overdramatic, but I have a really, _really_ bad feeling about this whole ordeal. First Cindra, then the gorge, and now Shodawes territory? What’s next?

Suddenly, I hear shouts from up ahead. I stiffen, although Blitz keeps cantering along obliviously beneath me. We don’t make it far, though; once more, the court has stopped in one big cluster.

We’re not alone anymore, though.

I peer through the heavy summer air and I can just make out the dark swath of figures that have met our patrol. I switch into the Trace and Shodawes drifts towards me. _Great. We already got caught._

Samn and I wait, tensely, as the voices ahead continue their conversation. I can hear them more clearly now that all the horses have stopped and the only background sound is the wind flickering through the grass under our feet. It carries the sound of the queen’s clear voice and King Naitienne’s raspy words toward me. I only catch bits and pieces but context alone is enough to know what’s going on.

And based on King Naitienne’s tone, he is none too pleased to find us in his territory. I hardly blame him. But he’s not so displeased that he gives the order to slaughter us all, so I’ll thank the Starlaxi for small mercies. Eventually, they come to some kind of agreement and the news filters through the crowd. Lady Peilte leans over to Sir Styrp to hear him tell her what’s going on, then turns to us and says,

“Shodawa wants us at the Gathering—they’re going to escort us to the pavilion.”

She’s obviously relieved, and upon hearing the words, so is Samn, but for some reason, my discomfort intensifies. _They_ want _us at the Gathering? Why?_

But the court’s moving again; I give Blitz’s reins a quick snap and touch my heels to her sides. As we set off, I notice figures moving around the group and I turn my head sharply, trying to catch a glimpse of the shadows that seem just out of my range of vision. _Shodawes knights._ They’re surrounding us.

Sweat trickles down my neck. I eye the knight to my left nervously. Lady Follar; one of the ladies of the court. I relax a fraction; she’s tiny and middle-aged and definitely not the sort to strike fear into my heart, but all the same, I don’t miss what the king of Shodawa is doing. _Yes, we all see how strong you are. Please back off._

I don’t feel like making conversation now that we’re being marched to the pavilion like prisoners, and Samn evidently feels the same way, so we make the rest of the ride in silence. I’m relieved to make out the outline of the pillars on the horizon, but when we dismount our horses, watched every inch of the way by the Shodawes, I can’t help feeling as though we’ve arrived at the prison.

Still, I make a half-hearted scan of the pavilion to see if I can spot someone friendly, like Sir Newskar. Wynnd is on the other side of the platform, though, and the starlight is faint tonight. King Naitienne and Queen Bluelianna head for the platform, and Shodawa and Thundria split. I catch curious glances from Riviens as our two groups peel apart. _They must have seen us leaving Shodawes territory…_

“Courts of the four kingdoms!” King Naitienne shouts, his husky voice still managing to call everyone’s attention to him on the platform. His dark crown catches the moonlight and I blink. “I have urgent news.”

My stomach sinks lower, though I am utterly unprepared. _What is this about? What could Shodawa be upset about now?_

“Then speak, man,” King Crukkedaro tells him gruffly.

King Tahliorius steps forward to stand with the Shodawes king and fear swarms up my back. _Are they united? Through what?_

“Thundria is harboring the tyrant!” King Naitienne shouts.

A hiss of gasps washes through the courts and the Thundrian court clusters tighter as if to prepare for an attack. For my part, I’m panicked. I’d forgotten about Braukkin; frankly, it wasn’t hard to. Despite his threatening presence in Shodawa, once he was our prisoner, Yllowei was really the only one to ever speak to him directly and as far as I know, he’s completely harmless now that he can’t see. It also helps that he’s getting up there in years.

But now that the secret is out, the Blacklands are going to break loose if someone doesn’t do something.

Queen Bluelianna, for her part, has stiffened and is shooting King Naitienne a death glare. “Silence!” Her voice thunders over us and even the most out-spoken knights and ladies are stunned out of their indignant cries.

“It is true, we have imprisoned Braukkin,” she hisses, every word flinty. No one dares speak out against her. “ _However_ , to call our act ‘harboring’ is a gross mischaracterization. We only _just_ fell short of executing him. He is blind, powerless, and restrained near-constantly in our healer’s wing.”

“Near-constantly?” King Naitienne’s tone is contemptuous and I almost fear for his life. “I see Lady Fennen there. Who is watching over him now, to be certain that he isn’t breaking out to kill more of us? But when has a life mattered to Thundria if it isn’t one of their own?”

This time, it’s our court that is sucking in the shocked breaths. The accusation leaves me breathless, too. _And who was it saving those Rivien children? Or_ your _skin, for that matter, King Naitienne, and the rest of your damned court?!_

To my dismay, I see Shodawes knights advancing on us. Rivier, at least, seems calmer, but I have no doubt that on the other side of the monarchs’ platform, Wynnd is just as testy. _The solstice is a truce,_ I repeat to myself, but this really does feel like the confirmation I’ve been waiting for all along. I put my hand on the hilt of _Fireheart_.

“I want peace,” King Tahliorius says, his voice heavy. Somehow, I meet his gaze through the crowd and he pauses, and then looks away, continuing, “but as long as that man lives, our court’s pain and suffering lives on. He must die, return to the earth, so that we may continue with our lives. There will be no peace until he is defeated, and if you will stand with him, then I am afraid we must stand against you. There will be no peace for _any_ of us until his spirit has left his body.”

His speech has slowed me down, made me question the future now that the secret is out, but it hasn’t done much to pacify the Shodawes knights, who look like they’re waiting for a signal from their king to jump on us and start swinging.

Just then, the pavilion darkens slightly—I look up to see a thick gray cloud obscuring the moonlight. We’re cloaked in darkness and my heart is in my throat as I wait for the sound of a scream that would indicate Shodawa seized the opportunity to attack us, but nothing produces itself. We all wait as the cloud passes.

“The Starlaxi is angry.” King Tahliorius is the first to speak; he may not be a healer, but I’ve learned Wynnd is the most devout kingdom and I don’t doubt the old man is deeply in tune with the Starlaxi. “It may be best for us to call an end to this Gathering now.”

I squeeze through the Thundrians nearest to the platform, glancing warily at Sir Cawle as I go, trying to catch a glimpse of the Wynnders that I travelled with, side-by-side, when Graie and I helped bring them back to their territory. I see Georse standing by Sir Newskar; he’s staring up at the throne, but his mentor’s gaze meets mine through the crowd.

My brows draw together in worry and Owen shakes his head, a look of disbelief in his eyes. And maybe… a hint of betrayal. My stomach twists and I backpedal, trying to envelop myself back into the group of Thundrians. _I knew it was a mistake to keep Braukkin alive. Now he’s bringing more bloodshed to our kingdom._

“Yes. I think all that needs to be said has been said,” the queen answers the Wynnder king icily. Without fanfare, she descends from the platform and takes a step into the Thundrian group, then stops. I think I just had the same realization as she did. And Naitienne notices.

“Where are you going, Queen Bluelianna?” His tone is rife with scorn. “Surely you don’t expect to be escorted back through Shodawes territory after you’ve betrayed us all this way? Our generosity has limits.”

I can’t see the queen’s expression but I can practically feel the hate rolling off her as she turns her face back toward the Shodawes king. When she doesn’t answer, King Naitienne descends from the platform as well and sweeps his cloak in a needlessly dramatic gesture, motioning for his court to follow him. Shodawa is gone in an instant.

King Tahliorius levels an inexorable but regretful look at the queen, then turns as well. She watches him go, unmoving, then turns as slow as ice melting in winter to King Crukkedaro.

“Well? Will you leave us stranded in the pavilion so that we may meditate on our ‘betrayal’?” the queen asks him, sarcasm dripping from her words.

A ghost of a smile traces King Crukkedaro’s face, then he shakes his head. “No. In these times, it is difficult to know who to trust, but I believe Thundria and Rivier may be able to… support one another.”

_It’s about time we were paid back!_ I think, grateful that there’s someone with honour left in the kingdoms.

“I see.” The queen gives him a long look. “Will you allow us to travel back through your territory? We only need permission to walk the shoreline.”

“Of course.” King Crukkedaro inclines his head to her. “In the interest of transparency, I don’t believe what you’ve done with Braukkin is the right path to take. But I would never take such a petty revenge for it.”

I think I actually catch a wry smile on the queen’s face at those words.

“Besides, your wrath is something to behold and I’m far too old to be tangling in that sort of thing anymore,” he adds, a mirthful note in his voice.

I half-expect the queen to punch him, but instead she laughs. “We’re hardly more than a few years apart in age. Don’t send me off to the elder’s wing just yet.”

And with that, somehow, some of the tension over Thundria is dispelled. We retreat into the trees to fetch out horses and then ride over to join the Riviens. They’re on foot, presumably having docked their boats on the shore below. We travel together in one big group toward the shore. I nudge Blitz over to Samn, watching the monarchs at the head of the patrol.

“So file that under ‘friendships I never would have seen coming’,” I remark.

“Agreed,” Samn answers. “And I think he’s right. We should get rid of Braukkin.”

“Get rid of him, meaning…” I trail off, waiting for her to finish my sentence. She merely meets my gaze, a hint of a challenge in those olive depths. “Kill him?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, if it comes to that.”

I frown. “But he’s harmless, isn’t he?”

“That kind of evil is never completely quenched until he’s underground,” Samn responds, sounding like King Tahliorius with his talk of spirits.

I shiver and don’t answer. As the night stretches on, the wind feels colder, the air less soupy and warm. At least the mosquitoes have retreated. Rivier escorts us down to the shores, a much less intimidating presence than Shodawa given that they’re on foot and have allied themselves with us, and then our courts separate so we can finally get back to our castle.

I see Queen Bluelianna speak to King Crukkedaro and Lady Fore quickly, then she turns to Meistya and Stowen, who are just getting into a boat. I freeze, watching. In the faint moonlight, they’re silhouetted against the water, featureless.

Cindra’s words come back to me. _Do you think it’s possible that… the queen is their mother?_ I dismissed her so quickly; it sounded ridiculous. The queen’s not a young idiot like Graie—she’s a planner, responsible, and follows the code to the letter. Who would the father be, in that case?

King Crukkedaro shakes her hand and then the two monarchs split, Queen Bluelianna remounting Lazuli and taking off, up the shoreline, and King Crukkedaro steps into a boat with Lady Fore.

_Surely,_ he _couldn’t be…_ I’ve seen Meistya and Stowen—they have the same enormous build as the king, but burly upper arms is a given when it comes to Riviens, and they lack his copper curls and warm complexion. _Silaverre is around Meistya and Stowen’s age, isn’t she? Would the king really have… had an affair with a Thundrian, not acknowledged the two resulting children as his, and then simultaneously have a legitimate child with a Rivien?_ I shake my head. _Alright, this is getting to be too much. The monarchs of our kingdoms didn’t have some torrid affair, Queen Bluelianna has nothing to do with the secretly-Thundrian knights at the Rivien court, and I need to go to bed._


	15. Chapter 14 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah this is uh... well, here we go.

Chapter 14 - Fiyr

In the ensuing months of the disastrous Gathering, tensions and tempers run high at the Thundrian court. Meeting a Shodawes border patrol almost always means a skirmish, starting with insults exchanged and ending swords drawn. I’ve been in and out of the healer’s wing with nicks and a broken wrist in the past couple months, which recently healed. At the very least, it’s been nice to see how much Cindra’s learning. She splinted my wrist herself, though Yllowei hovered over her shoulder with her hazel eyes pinned to Cindra’s deft movements to ensure it was done properly.

Another consequence of the ‘war’ that Wynnd and Shodawa have supposedly declared is that Thundria has been cut off from the Lunar Temple. The queen took Sir Teyl and Sewif two months ago but they returned before the day was over with the news that a Wynnder patrol had caught them and refused to allow them to pass. That was really when it sunk in that this ordeal is going beyond normal hostility between courts. They want to punish us.

As if Yllowei can tell that plenty of people at court would be fine with Braukkin being sacrificed to save the rest of us, he’s disappeared altogether. Before, it wasn’t exactly like he was lounging around in the throne room constantly, but I haven’t seen him in weeks. She’s put him up in her private chambers and he doesn’t leave, as far as I know. In the strangest way, I feel sympathy for him.

He’s not even really alive, is he? His former life is over, no one speaks to him except Lady Fennen, and even she has her hands more than full with the rest of us, and despite his utter isolation, surely he knows that almost every single person at court would slit his throat and leave him for the wolves if we could.

Would it be a mercy to kill him and let this all fade into the past?

Shodawa may be a threat, but Rivier has only grown more friendly since the Gathering. Graie and I are as popular as ever on account of the food we’ve been bringing them, and on one of our recent visits, Lady Fore informed us that the water was being cleansed and they expected everything to be back to normal, or at least improving, within the next month. Silaverre has managed to nearly always be the one escorting us to and fro, which has given Graie plenty of time to get over his panic.

The last visit was the first time she was nowhere to be seen, but Graie brought me news later that she was spending most of her days cooped up in the Rivien galleon, waiting to give birth, apparently going stir-crazy being stuck with the other ladies of the court. Though I try not to pry, I also learned that she’s refused to name the father and no one at the Rivien court is the definite candidate. Rumours are flying, of course, and Silaverre is plenty aware regardless of the half-hearted attempts that the court makes to hide it from her that the two big guesses are Stowen or Sir Wesschar.

As concerned as I am with what will happen when she inevitably gives birth, I’m more preoccupied with Sir Cawle. After the Gathering, Cindra spilled what had happened earlier that day; she recounted how the queen told her to go with Sir Cawle to test the bridge, how he sent her out, how she lost her balance and fell, and then finally the reveal that Liang both knows how to swim and was willing to risk his life to save her.

I was torn between wanting to protect her and wanting to run Sir Cawle through with _Fireheart_ until he screamed. She convinced me not to, though, saying that now that she was Lady Fennen’s novitiate, he wouldn’t try anything. I can’t deny that the past months have proven her right, but I still don’t like it. If he’s getting to the point where he’ll try to get Cindra killed, then how far will he go next time?

I’m brought back to the present when Brakken rides through the bushes with a shy smile.

“Well done!” I exclaim. I’m giving him a practice assessment to prepare him for his knight examination and tests. Graie is otherwise occupied, as usual. Brakken’s been tracking me for a couple hours—I left him under the castle and gave myself twenty minutes to gallop through the territory, winding my way over paths and then through untamed forest, crossing streams and riding right through towns in an attempt to muddy my trail with villager traces. I stopped by the largest lake in our territory, to the east of the castle.

The sky is a soft blue, though the colour is hardly visible through the dusty gray clouds that layer across it, a sharp contrast to the rich reds and golds of the leaves that cling to the deciduous trees all around me. The water laps at the shoreline and I see ducks swimming around in shallows, quacking at each other and splashing under the gnarled branches of the dead bushes whose roots grasp at the earth underfoot.

“I almost lost the trail. Twice,” Brakken exclaims, a little out of breath from his ride.

“But in the end, you found me,” I answer, climbing back on to Blitz and nudging her over to Brownie so I can clap Brakken on the shoulder. “You’re an excellent tracker, Brakken! Thundria’s lucky to have you.”

He reddens and laughs self-consciously. “Thanks. I don’t know how good I really am, though; at one point I thought I caught Wynnder trace, which obviously…”

He trails off. I blink. “You caught _Wynnder_ trace?”

“Well, I _thought_ , but it was faint, I…” His brows draw together. “Oh no. We should go make sure it was nothing.”

“Yes. We definitely should.” I try to contain my mounting panic. _I really thought he’d learned to trust his instincts, so I sure_ hope _this is nothing._ But as things are between the kingdoms… there’s no chances to be taken.

I snap Blitz’s reins and dig my heels into her flanks, harder than I should. We take off through the forest, Brakken hot on our heels, and I call back to him, “Where’d you sense the trace?”

“By Atmos,” he answers.

_Not far._ I call up a picture of Eastern Thundria in my mind as best I can, but the path in front of me is hard to match to the territory. _Damn it, Graie, where are you when I need you? I’m sure Silaverre has thought the same on occasion, though,_ I think, trying to be compassionate. _Think, Fiyr!_ The path forks ahead, split by a fallen tree. _Time to guess._

I swerve left and we streak down the path, the trees thinning around us. I let out a breath. Atmos has a lot of agriculture, from what I remember, and sure enough, the grassy hills flatten into long stretches of cordoned off fields.

“This is—where I—found it!” Brakken shouts from behind me. I yank on Blitz’s reins and we slow as I check the Trace.

Almost entirely villager. But not completely. _Oh no._ It feels like they were masking their traces somehow, but I can sense one strongly, that speaks of birds swooping overhead and plains stretching in every direction, and feels coarse and prickly. _Georse._ There’s something else with it; another masked trace, more easily ignored since it’s familiar, but it brings nothing but more bad news.

“That’s Wynnd and Shodawa,” I say aloud, heart sinking. “We need to get back to the castle immediately.”

I don’t need to look at Brakken’s face to feel his embarrassment and anger with himself for brushing aside the Wynnder trace so easily and missing Shodawa entirely. I want to reassure him, but I’m getting scared. It’s hard to tell, but I think the patrols passed a while ago. They could be at the castle within minutes. Or maybe they’re already there.

And with that thought, silently apologizing to Blitz, I press my boots into her sides once more, wheeling her around, and we hurtle back down the path. As we go, I can’t help focusing on the fifth dimension, reaching out and obsessing over the slightest thread of Wynnd and Shodawa. The slightest _threat_. It hurts, I can’t lie; as I dive deeper into the fifth dimension, counting on Blitz’s sure hooves to find the path, I recognize more and more of their masked traces. A smokey trace that catches in my throat like the air rushing through my lungs too fast—Sir Futt. A choking one, almost _wet_ and slimy against my skin—the hotheaded young knight I met with Graie when we first entered the tunnels where Wynnd was sheltering. What was his name? Sir Kelaw?

And then… the king. Ancient and layered like a stone formed over many years. Familiar. I close my eyes, pained. _I’m going to have to fight them. All of them. They’ve brought war to us._ I lay my hand on the hilt of _Fireheart_ and try to steel myself for battle.

…

The thunder of Brownie and Blitz’s hooves drowns out the noises of battle up until the point where we have to stop and bring our horses over to the patch of leaves that will transport us right into the conflict. As we go, I see a couple knights that I don’t recognize trying to climb down the ladder and when they hit the ground, they flee into the trees. I glare balefully at their fleeing back but know better than to give chase; there’s no honour in hunting down a defeated enemy.

Fleeing isn’t an option for Thundria, though.

Brakken goes first and I feel the familiar hum of life-force in the back of my mind as he and Brownie slip out of existence, then I follow him. We’re dropped on the far side of the pavilion and without missing a beat, I swing myself off Blitz and charge into the battle.

It looks like our court has managed to keep most of the Shodawes and Wynnder knights out of the castle; I see Sir Wynnd, Sir Peyelt, and Lady Fuor fighting elbow to elbow, bunched around the castle doors. Liang and Samn, with Briatte at her side, dart in and out of the battle in a weaving motion that calls to mind the battle formations I pored over as a squire, moving too quickly for any enemy knight to lock them in their sights and focus fire on them. Lady Fyrra is closest to me, fighting a skinny gray-haired man that carries the trace of Shodawa. She moves at a blinding pace, every strike hard and true, while he is almost sluggish in his blows. _Energy alchemy,_ I remember.

I scan the battlefield for a target but before I can choose for myself, I hear a tell-tale whistle of steel and jump out of the way, spinning as I go to face the assailant. _No._ Misery claws at me as I unsheathe _Fireheart_ , forcing myself to wind up to swing.

Marrani Flor, looking just as regretful, meets my swing with her own sword. The force of the blow rattles through me but I pull away and try to land a blow on her less-armoured legs. Her blade deflects the worst of it, but her knees buckle and she stumbles free of our combat. _I can’t fight her!_

I wheel away, blinding swinging to try to find someone else that I’ll have less qualms about fighting, but the battle around me has mostly cleared. Maybe one or two of our enemies have been sent running, but the more concerning reason for the sudden lull becomes apparent. They’ve punched through our defences and are inside the castle.

Brakken at my side, I dash across the pavilion and follow the last couples Shodawes and Wynnder knights through the heavy oak doors of the castle and into the throne room. A brown projectile narrowly misses me as I arrive in the throne room, and then a heartbeat later, Meude Kelaw is launching himself at me, glittering sword spinning in his hands.

I recoil, barely meeting his blow and his pure strength sends my sword flying out of my hands. _Shit._ Not missing a beat, Sir Kelaw’s left hand darts upward and the ground is suddenly slipping out from under me—no, it’s _throwing_ me, a pillar of mud erupting from underneath my feet and flinging me away from where my sword fell. I’m in the air for a few moments, my arms flailing wildly as I try to break my fall without breaking any bones.

I crash to the stone floor of the throne room and the air in my lungs is ejected with force. I gasp, winded, and fumble for my life-force ring. _Without_ Fireheart _, I’m going to have to count on not blowing up._ Reliance on my life-force in battle makes me nervous, but it’s the only option I have. I scramble to my feet and prepare for the next attack.

Sir Kelaw’s mud threw me to the right side of the throne room and I can see now that it’s where the invaders are trying to get to. More precisely, the healer’s wing. _Of course._ My heart sinks. _Because they want to kill Braukkin._

I see exhaustion reflected on the faces of Thundrians around me. _They don’t want to fight for him._ I can’t say I feel any differently. _Protecting him has meant incurring the wrath of half the kingdoms. Is it worth it?_ At the same time, anger surges inside me when I consider that Wynnd and Shodawa have resorted to violence to try to force our hand. _We can make our own decisions._

I force my way between the smaller fights and emerge into the healer’s wing. Sand immediately blasts in my face and I splutter, grabbing my eyes to try to wipe it out.

“Sorry! Sorry, Fiyr!” Samn’s voice comes somewhere from my left and I stumble blindly further into the healer’s wing, still rubbing my eyes to try to get it out. “We’ve bottlenecked them; every time someone comes through this hallway, we've been incapacitating them.”

When my vision finally clears, I see the brilliance of this plan. Wynnd and Shodawa outnumber us two to one, but forcing them to come alone or in pairs down a hallway into the waiting swords of a group of Thundrian knights means we can take them out one by one. Just as I thought, a brawny Shodawes man who looms so large that he has to duck to get through the doorway emerges from the hallway.

Samn extends her hand in a practiced jab at the air and sand shoots directly into his face. The giant knight yelps in surprise, grabbing his face just as I did. This time, though, he’s not getting a few moments to rub the sand out of his eyes. Discordant music suddenly grates through the air, more a blast of sound than a real tune, and the knight shouts louder, recoiling from the sensory attack.

Finally, Frostialla lashes her life-force ring hand through the air and a spray of shards of ice fly from her fingertips, embedding themselves in leather jerkin the knight wears. He stumbles back and falls. A black and tawny dog leaps forward and grabs his shoulder, yanking and growling.

I see Briatte run out of the group and grab his other shoulder, helping her summon to drag him away from the entrance. With practiced fingers, her expression of concentration not showing a hint of fear, Briatte snatches a length of cord from the table by a cot and binds the knight’s hands tight. I’m impressed with the young squire’s bravery and skill.

Another two knights charge in from the hallway and Samn and Lady Tiall snap into action, ruining the knights’ vision and hearing. As Lady Fuor shoots ice again, I join her and throw out both hands, summoning fire from deep in my body and shooting it with precision at the knight on the right. It’s only then that I realize it’s Sir Newskar. I extinguish my flames, but his Wynnder uniform has begun to smoulder already and he wails, blinded and on fire, and staggers a step, then tumbles to the floor to be dragged off and tied by Briatte. Guilt swamps me, but I shove it away.

_He’s an enemy now. And I’m not hurting him that badly. If it wasn’t me, it would have been Lady Fuor’s ice daggers and that would be no better for him in the end._

Little by little, the flow of invaders through the doors of the healer’s wing trickles to a stop. The shouts from the throne room fade and breaths of relief are exhaled all around. I feel my body slacken and it’s only then that I take stock of my own injuries.

My arms feel limp and weak from being rattled around by blocking Lady Flor and Sir Kelaw’s heavy blows and I think I wrenched my shoulder when I landed on it after Sir Kelaw threw me into the air. At least I don’t feel as depleted and sluggish as some of the court seems—a tell-tale sign of using too much life-force. My life-force feels like a barrel that I took a tiny sip from. In fact, using it at all has caused the depth of its power to hum under my skin, desperate to be unleashed again, and I press it back, letting my head loll back in exhaustion.

None of us speak for a few moments, and then another figure appears in the hallway. Samn raises her hands, ready to throw sand in their face, but pauses when she sees that it’s the Wynnder king. His sword is sheathed and his hands are outstretched as if to show that he means no harm.

“King Tahliorius,” Samn is the first to speak. Her voice is raspy with exhaustion, but he seems no different and he inclines his head.

“The battle is over. Thundria keeps the tyrant,” he declares, breaking off into a cough. “I am sorry to have caused fruitless bloodshed. I have come to bring my knights home, and doubtless King Naitienne will be along to collect his as well.”

Silently, Samn points to the wall to the king’s left where in a little row, the Wynnder and Shodawes knights that tried to break into the healer’s wing sit, their hands bound behind their backs. The king nods, wordless, and kneels to undo their ties. I’m surprised by how well he retains his dignity despite being beaten and kneeling. He stands and leads his knights out of the wing, shooting one last glance toward the back of the wing where Braukkin is being kept.

Finally, something dawns on me. _How did they know where we were keeping Braukkin?_ I don’t think it would be _that_ hard to guess, but every single intruder was swarming the healer’s wing, as if they were certain that he was being kept there. A cold feeling runs down my back. _Surely they don’t have eyes_ inside _our court?_ My gaze roves over the people around me. _No, none of them. I won’t believe it._

“They’re gone,” Sir Cawle announces, appearing in the doorway of the healer’s wing.

My heart drops. _Of course. It was him. He told them that we had him in the healer’s wing._ I hadn’t even questioned how the secret got out in the first place. _What connections does he have to Shodawa?_ My resolve hardens. _He needs to go. Now._ I have to talk to the queen. No matter how she denies it and yells and protests, he is putting the people I love in danger. First Cindra, shaken to her core at his attempt to get her killed, and I can see that a shallow gash is soaking Samn’s uniform in blood from this battle that never should have been fought… _He needs to go,_ I repeat silently to myself.

I’m going to talk to the queen.

I leave the healer’s wing and storm in the throne room, but I’m immediately distracted from my task when I spot a familiar figure.

“Graie!” I’m torn between relief and anger. He looks fine, _better_ than fine, actually. His shaggy gray hair is swept back and unmussed, his uniform is clean, and he has no injuries. _Because he wasn’t in the fight. Because he was with Silaverre._ I glance around the room in search of the queen, but she’s by the throne, speaking to Sir Cawle. The last of the Shodawes and Wynnder invaders have disappeared out the castle doors. Swallowing, I hurry over to Graie.

“What happened?” he demands, bewildered by the state of the room and the sight of members of the court cradling bleeding limbs.

“Shodawa and Wynnd attacked,” I tell him, my voice terse. I can’t help the frustration leaking into it. _Perhaps they would have been beaten back faster if he had been here to help._

“How in the name of the Starlaxi did we drive them out?” Graie exclaims. “Were the battle patrols tiny?”

“ _We_ bottlenecked them in the healer’s wing. They were here for Braukkin,” I say. Colour drains from Graie’s face, and unable to let it go, I ask “How’s your lady?”

Graie shakes his head. “Pregnancy is horrific, I’m glad it couldn’t happen to me. Her hands are swollen and she says she can hardly fit into her boots anymore. She’s been nauseated and vomiting for days, and it doesn’t help that Med Frer has her so cooped up on the ship that she can’t get any fresh air for days at a time.”

Despite my question being half-sarcastic, real fear pricks at me. “That sounds really bad. When’s she due?”

“Soon. Really soon,” Graie answers, still looking ill. “Their healer said it could be within the month. I’m going back to meet her again this evening, but I had a really bad feeling and I thought I had better come back… and obviously I was right.”

He motions to the destruction around us and I shake my head, suddenly feeling terrible for my earlier cattiness.

“No, you did the right thing by being with her,” I say. “If she’s having such a hard time, no one would blame you for giving her what comfort you can. She needs it.”

Graie’s relief is like ice melting in boiling water. “Thank you. Thank you for understanding. I’m just… I’m so scared for her, you know? I know the Blessing is supposed to help pregnancies, but it’s not like there’s _no_ risk, and anyway she’s suffering a lot _now_ and I can’t be by her side…”

I wrap my uninjured arm around him and give him an awkward one-armed hug. He laughs a little and returns the gesture. The rest of the court is gathering in the throne room and I see the queen leave her conversation with Sir Cawle and move to the centre of the platform. She hasn’t escaped the battle unscathed; the most obvious change is her hair. Someone hacked it off and the braid she usually keeps it in is unravelling as she turns her head. She seems to be limping a little too.

She waves her hand for silence, though hardly anyone in the court seems interested in chitchat.

“The Shodawes and Wynnder intruders have been driven out,” she states redundantly. “Thundria is safe.”

“You mean the tyrant is safe!” Darriek, of course, yells from his place in the crowd.

Heads swivel to regard him, but no one immediately counters his words. Unease roils in my stomach; Darriek is a piece of shit, no doubt, but I can’t entirely disagree. With my court around me, injured and bleeding and exhausted, I can’t help feeling like this wasn’t a battle worth fighting. We are defending a man who would kill every last one of us if he could. Who _has_ killed some of us.

“Braukkin is unharmed from this unjust attack, yes,” the queen answers, unruffled. “We are not responsible for this attack. It is Shodawa and Wynnd’s unfortunate myopia that—”

“No!” Darriek continues. “You brought this on us.”

Finally, the queen errs from her peaceful tone and regards Darriek with fire in her eyes. “I did what I thought best for our kingdom. Whatever his crimes, we will not be forced into violence because of the others. You have all fought well today.”

Darriek subsides, but I see cold anger in his eyes. There’s a storm brewing in our court, and it’s Braukkin’s fault. Even imprisoned, he causes so much conflict… I shake my head. _But we have to support the queen. Her word is law._

Sir Cawle steps forward. “We are all injured, so Lady Fennen and Cindra must concentrate their efforts on the worst wounded.”

“Of course,” Yllowei mutters off to his left. “Sir Wynnd, come with me so I can look at that leg. And Lady Faise, we must treat you for those burns.”

She leaves for the healer’s wing with her charges in tow and Cindra follows. Sir Cawle watches them go for a moment and then turns back to us. “Those of you who are the least injured, we will begin cleaning up and repairing immediately. And Sir Sterrip, I see that you came out unharmed. Or were you never in the fight to begin with?’

My heart stops as people glance at Graie, noting all the same things that I did.

“You are out of the castle very often on your own,” Sir Cawle remarks. “In these times, we need all the knights we have—don’t stray too far afield.”

Graie swallows. “Yes, Sir.”

The queen clears her throat. “Thank you, Sir Cawle. Sir Sterrip, we can speak privately. The rest of you, Sir Cawle will be organizing teams for rebuilding and making runs to nearby villages for supplies. If you have an injury that prevents you from helping, go to the healer’s wing so that Lady Fennen can check you over. If you’re too tired to help, for the love of the Starlaxi, just go to bed. I don’t want to see any of you passing out.”

The weary court nods and a few people limp off to the healer’s wing. I follow everyone else over to Sir Cawle, giving Graie a nervous look as he heads for the queen, whose face is unreadable. I look back at Sir Cawle, conflicted, and then turn and scale the dais to approach the queen.

“Sir Harte?” She blinks. “What is it?”

“I… wanted to let you know that…” I fumble with my words, looking at Graie. He looks resigned to being verbally lashed by the queen for his absence, but I know he doesn’t deserve it. _Think, Fiyr!_ “That Brakken fought well today. And that Sir Sterrip thinks it’s time he should be made a full knight.”

Graie is caught off guard, but plays along without missing a beat. “Yes! That’s… something I wanted to tell you. He’s strong and loyal and I think he’ll serve our court well.”

The queen is surprised. “Oh! I see. Well, I am inclined to agree. I saw him fight off a Shodawes knight alone. Perhaps we will hold the ceremony after everyone has had a chance to be checked over by Lady Fennen. The Starlaxi knows we need some good news. Thank you, Sir Harte, you can go. I’m sure Sir Cawle needs your help.”

_Speaking of Sir Cawle…_ I think, but merely bow and back away. _There will be time to talk to her later. I should tell Brakken the good news._

I send Graie one last sympathetic look and search out Brakken in the crowd. He’s joined Duss in a team that has started picking up the broken pieces of the front door of the castle and putting them on a tarp that someone must’ve foraged out of a storeroom to remove.

“Brakken!”

He looks up from his work, one hand full of splinters and the other reaching out to pick more off the floor and pauses. “Yeah?”

“I told the queen how well you fought,” I inform him. “She’s going to make you a knight very soon.”

He gapes for a moment and then stands up shakily. “Seriously? I—I should change. Or wash. Or both. How long do I have? Crap, I need to clean up the wood.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the door, you go clean yourself up. The queen said the ceremony would be after everyone’s been checked over by Lady Fennen and your sister.”

Brakken lets out a breath of relief and gives me a quick hug before running off. I smile as I watch him go, then bend over to start picking up the pieces of wood, idly wondering how many times we’ve had to replace this door over the years.


	16. Chapter 15 - Cindra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok enjoyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

Chapter 15 - Cindra

“I’m going to be a knight!”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Brakken so excited. Despite the square white bandage that Lady Fennen applied the cut along his brow and the way he cups his left side where no doubt bruises will be appearing in a couple days, he looks ready. His caramel-brown hair is still a little damp from his hurried wash but he’s combed it back and changed into a fresh squire’s uniform—the last one he’ll ever wear. I flick a non-existent bit of fluff off the shoulder of his pale green tunic; it matches my novitiate robes.

“You look great,” I tell him.

“I’m so nervous.” He flutters his hands around like he’s shooing away imaginary flies and I laugh at him.

“Why? You only have to say two words,” I tease.

“But I’m going to get my proper life-force ring! And Flashbang is going to become Brackensomething,” he frets. “What if it’s a stupid name? And what if the ring doesn’t fit me?”

I snort. “Okay, first of all, no one’s life-force ring has ever _not_ fit them. They’re magic, you idiot. Second, you’re such a suck-up, so I’m sure the queen’s gonna give you something cool. Brackenblaze? That would be a good name for a sword, don’t you think?”

My brother shakes his head insistently. “But that would be like if the bracken was on fire! I’m a plant-summoner, Cindra, fire is like… my nemesis!”

“You’re too stupid to have a nemesis,” I sigh.

“Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome, idiot. Now get out into the throne room before you miss your own ceremony.”

Brakken laughs and pulls open the curtain of his nook and steps out, then looks back, regarding the little room. “I’m gonna miss this. Bye, nook.”

“You’re gonna have to come back to clean up,” I point out.

“It won’t be the same,” he responds, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

I snort at him. “Get out there.”

He smiles and disappears from the entrance to the nook. I glance around his little room one last time, feeling oddly sentimental. _I would have been made a knight alongside him. It would have been my ceremony too._ I can almost picture myself as I am now, but standing on that dais with him. Turning in my uniform for the forest-green of a full knight. The uniform I’ll never wear. _But I will give my novitiate robes back to Lady Fennen one day. And at the autumn equinox, I’ll be accepted by the Starlaxi._ I take a deep breath, remembering where I am and who I am. _I’ve changed paths, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped. I’ve just got a different destiny._

I smile and leave, heading out into the throne room, ready to support Brakken.

Nearly everyone is here. Our mother is as outwardly composed as ever, but she gives him a pat on the back as Brakken passes, heading for the dais where the queen is standing, a ceremonial gown hanging off her frame. Her crown glitters on her head, managing to draw the attention away from her uneven hair. Queen Bluelianna gives Brakken a benevolent smile and a little nod as he stands before her.

“We are gathered here to honour the bravery of our court, and one of our squires in particular,” she begins in a clear voice that fills the room. “Brakken, we thank you for your courage in driving out Shodawa and Wynnd today. Sir Sterrip, has Brakken successfully completed all the training he will require to be a full knight of Thundria?”

I can’t help thinking she would be better off addressing Fiyr for that question, but all the same, Sir Sterrip smiles widely, pride evident. “Yes. He has.”

“Brakken, do you promise to live by the knight’s code and protect and defend the great kingdom of Thundria, to protect and lay down your life for the court, until your final breath?”

I feel goosebumps rise on my arms at the words and I glance at Brakken. He’s almost quivering under the weight of his promise and the moment.

“I do.” He drops to his knees and the queen gently releases her sword from her scabbard and lays it against his shoulder.

“Then I, Queen Bluelianna Star, ruler of Thundria, and by the power of the Starlaxi, give you your full name. Brakken, for your valour and determination, I name you for ‘fur.’ Rise, Sir Brakken Fere of Thundria. Serve us with all your strength. Rise.”

He stands, head held high and eyes glowing with pride for his new name, and the queen raps her sceptre against the ground. I watch, breathless, as white mist flows from the ground and spirals up to Brakken’s hand, enveloping it for just a moment. I switch into the fifth dimension, catching starlight on my tongue, and then leave as it dissipates.

“Sir Fere!” Fiyr is the first to greet him by his new title.

“Sir Fere!” I repeat, cutting through the crowd as fast as my staff allows me.

Brakken gets there first, though. He practically launches himself off the dais to give me a big hug. I wheeze as he crushes me and try to give him a pat. _Wow, being a full knight has made him crazy._

“Congratulations,” I croak. He releases his vice-like grip a fraction.

“You should have been up there with me.”

“No. The Starlaxi meant for me to be a healer. It’s my destiny now.”

“Spoken like a true healer.”

I give him a light punch on the shoulder and he smiles. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for what?” I ask. “Punching you?”

He rolls his eyes and it’s then that I notice he’s crying. I’m a little worried I put pressure on his bruised side or something but quickly realize he’s just overcome with emotion. “Oh, forget it.”

“You big sap.”

“Congratulations, Brakken. I look forward to patrolling with you,” Sir Strommer tells him, giving him a firm handshake.

“You too, Sir,” he answers shyly.

I look over the court as everyone takes their turn congratulating Brakken and clapping him on the back or shaking his hand, and I spot Fiyr. He gives me a wide smile and a thumbs-up. He’s standing with Samn. I put on a smile and give him a little wave.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t the mentor you needed,” Sir Sterrip is saying to my brother when I turn away. “You were a great squire, and you’ll be an even better knight. We’re lucky to have you.”

Brakken nods. “Thanks.”

I know he doesn’t quite forgive him, not yet, and I feel bad for both of them, somehow. Brakken’s told me enough how terrible he feels when Sir Sterrip’s missing from training and he needs to listen to Fiyr’s excuses, but knowing what I know about Sir Sterrip’s situation… My heart thrums with sympathy for both. _I wish Sir Sterrip could have just told Brakken._ He’s terrible at keeping secrets though. _Then again, so is Fiyr and he managed not to tell anyone. Except me. And probably Samn._

Sir Sterrip gives him a quick embrace, then pulls away and moves through the crowd toward Fiyr. I watch him go, worried, and sure enough, he heads for the door, Fiyr in tow. I cringe and brace myself for Brakken’s reaction, but my brother just shakes his head.

“I guess some things are gonna stay the same.”

My brows draw together and I poke him. “No being sad. This is your day. Let’s go eat some dinner before my body digests itself.”

…

Sewif and Thorrin are on kitchen duty, so I’m a little skeptical of how this dinner is going to taste, but most of the court piles into the dining hall—save Lady Fennen who has decided to take Braukkin out into the forest and escape our revelry—and we all sit down to eat. Fiyr and Sir Sterrip are still missing, and I’m beginning to be a little concerned.

_I know Sir Sterrip’s… wife? is really pregnant, but surely he wouldn’t blow off the dinner for Brakken?_ My sympathy for him dries a little. _He can visit her another time._

We’re just sitting down to eat when someone rushes in through the doorway of the dining hall. It’s Fiyr. He looks panicked.

I stand immediately and, giving Brakken a reassuring look, I hurry over to him. He’s moving toward me in an almost distracted way, his eyes darting around.

“Where’s Lady Fennen?” he demands, looking paler by the moment.

“What? Where’s…” I trail off. “Lady Fennen’s out. She took Braukkin into the forest. I don’t know…”

Fiyr lets out a few shaky breaths and what he says next makes my heart drop. “Do you know how to deliver a baby?”

Panic courses through me. “What? Lady Fennen explained it to me… I’ve seen diagrams, but…”

He shakes his head, working himself up into hysterics again. “It’ll have to do. You need to come with me right now.”

“Fiyr? What’s wrong?” It’s Samn.

I’m halfway out of the dining hall, running to the healer’s wing and fighting to remember what she’s going to need. _A rag to muffle her screams. A panic antidote? No, that’ll make her sleepy and she needs her energy._ I’m shaking as I rummage through Lady Fennen’s drawers. _Shit!_ My eyes land on a small, precise blade. Praying to the Starlaxi I don’t need it, I shove it into the bag hanging on her desk. _It needs to be enough. May the Starlaxi help us._

I meet Fiyr back in the throne room as I run out. “Where’s Samn?”

“I told her not to worry. She doesn’t know.” He lowers his voice as he says it. “Come on. There’s no time to waste.”

“How is she?” I ask, hardly daring to breathe as we run out the front doors. Blitz is already waiting on the pavilion but Fiyr comes with me to get Ashes.

He shakes his head. “She’s giving birth! I don’t know!”

“Don’t panic, you’re going to make me scared,” I say frankly, voice trembling.

Fiyr looks at me. “I’m sorry.”

I swallow hard and lead Ashes out of her stable. The sky is charcoal gray. It’s going to rain. We run back across the pavilion and he mounts Blitz in a flash. We charge for the patch of leaves and the moment we’re on the forest floor, Fiyr kicks Blitz into a gallop. I follow suit, racing after him through the trees. The thunder of the horses’ hooves can’t drown out my thoughts. My hands are cold; I should have grabbed over-clothes before we left. The warmth of summer is gone from the trees.

My knuckles redden on the reins and I pay them no mind. I’m preoccupied with the weight of the satchel that flaps against my side and what’s inside. Everything Lady Fennen’s taught me is gone from my mind. _I don’t know how to deliver a baby! I’m not even a real healer!_

It’s raining when we make it to the gates of the Sun Rocks. The guard at the entrance barely has time to pull the gate door open before Fiyr and Blitz shoot through it. We’re lucky that it’s raining—the roads are mostly clear. The remaining villagers scatter as Blitz gallops through the streets. I follow Fiyr, half-blinded by the rain.

He stops Blitz outside a bar with a second level that I guess is for renting rooms. I almost recognize it, but I don’t know from where. Fiyr hastily lashes Blitz’s reins to a post out front and yanks open the door, then ducks in. I do the same and follow Fiyr into the bar. It’s sweltering in here, a fireplace roaring on one end and bodies taking up almost all available space. Rain slicks off my hair but I take no notice of the villagers and run after Fiyr as he shoves through to the back where a staircase leads up to the second level.

I run up after him, taking the sloping wooden stairs two at a time. He leads me down a hallway and pulls open the door of a small room. It’s sparsely furnished; just a dresser, a bed, and table for one with a chair. Graie is sitting over someone in the bed and I move, almost in a dream, toward them.

When I see her face, I recognize her in a flash. It’s Lady Strime, the woman we met when Graie and Fiyr were poking around Rivier and trying to find out things about Sir Cawle, but… I knew her from before that. I didn’t remember our first meeting before, but it suddenly comes back to me, seeing Graie clutch her hand. _The villager that rescued him from the water._ I blink.

She’s propped up on a few pillows, sweat streaking her face and leaving her silver hair in damp ringlets, and her skin is flushed, but I remember her all the same. She meets my eyes as I move to her other side and set down my satchel. Recognition flickers in her pale blue eyes.

“Chatterbox,” she says weakly, a little laugh escaping her, then she groans and squeezes Sir Sterrip’s hand.

I don’t have time to ask her what she means. “Are you alright? Has anything happened?”

“My water broke almost an hour ago,” she answers, stifling another groan. “I was having stomach pains today, but I thought it was nothing. It feels like… cramps, but…”

“Contractions,” I tell her. I’m trying to make my voice soothing but anxiety is rising in me. It sharpens my mind, though, and things appear in my brain that I don’t even remember learning. “Tell me when the next one comes.”

“It’s coming now,” Lady Strime gasps, her head rolling back as she releases a low moan of pain.

“Just breathe,” I soothe, placing a hand on her stomach. She’s covered in a blanket, but even under that layer I can feel her stomach ripple. “Fiyr, start counting the seconds. You’re doing fine. Everything is going to be fine.”

“I’m here,” Sir Sterrip says, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’m here. Cindra’s here, she’s a healer.”

I don’t correct him.

“Where’s Med Frer?” she groans.

“He can’t come, but I’m here,” I tell her.

“That’s a minute,” Fiyr says.

_One. How many is it before she has to push?_

 _Six,_ Lady Fennen answers me in my mind. I breathe out. “Okay, tell me when we get to six.”

“What does six mean?” Graie asks anxiously.

“It hurts,” Lady Strime says, gasping.

“It’s going to hurt,” I tell her, channelling Lady Fennen. “You’re giving birth to twins. We’re going to be here for at least another few hours, maybe longer, but you’re young and strong and you’re going to make it through it, okay?”

“Okay,” Lady Strime agrees, whimpering.

It feels wrong to be comforting someone older than me, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. “When we get to six minutes, if you have another contraction it means the babies are coming soon.”

Lady Strime tries to nod, but her head is so weak she can’t lift it off the pillows. “Okay, okay. Where… where are we?”

Alarm lights in Graie’s eyes and I go into damage control.

“We’re in an inn in Sun Rocks. Graie’s here with you,” I say, wracking my brain for what confusion means. _Is this normal?_ “Just breathe, you’re doing fine.”

She takes a shaky breath as Graie continues to stroke her hand.

“That’s six minutes,” Fiyr announces, his voice steadying me.

“Right. What do you feel, Lady Strime?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not—” She’s broken off as a cry of pain rises in her throat. “It hurts!”

Her stomach ripples as she has another contraction. “Okay, this is going to be a quicker birth. It’s not going to hurt for much longer. You’re doing fine.”

Graie’s voice is raspy as he assures her, “You’re so strong. You can do it. I love you.”

She wails and squeezes her eyes shut, then takes another gasping breath. I don’t give in to the panic sucking at the edge of my senses and instead rub her shoulder.

“Just relax. The babies will come in their own time. All you have to do is breathe,” I remind her. “You’re safe here. You can do it.”

Her breath comes fast, but she seems to be doing alright as far as I can tell—Fiyr calls another six minutes only seconds after her next contraction comes. I thank the Starlaxi; everything is going as Lady Fennen told me. This one lasts longer, and when it finishes, Lady Strime falls back, groaning. Gingerly, I lift the blanket and steel myself. Blood streaks the inside of her legs and the sheets beneath her. Graie sucks in a breath.

“She’s bleeding. Is that normal?” Panic rises in his voice.

“Yes. I need you to stay calm,” I tell him firmly. “She might bleed more. Birth is messy. Just keep her calm.”

Lady Strime lets out another cry of pain as a third contraction comes.

“That was only four minutes,” Fiyr tells me, trying to mask the worry in his voice.

I shake my head. “It’s okay, they’re going to get closer together.”

Her pained cry rises.

“It’s going to last longer, okay? Keep breathing.” I stare at Graie, willing him to help her.

“It hurts!” she hisses, shaking.

“You’re doing good. You’re going to be a wonderful mother. I love you,” he repeats, holding her close.

I press my two forefingers to the inside of her wrist like Lady Fennen told me, not knowing what else to do. Her pulse thrums fast, but not dangerously so. I hope. The contraction fades and she slumps back, breathing hard. I feel her stomach and try to keep my own breaths regulated. Minutes later, another contraction comes.

“Should I be pushing?” she asks, sounding exhausted and scared.

“I think so,” I tell her, dabbing the sweat away on her forehead with the cloth in my satchel. “Fiyr, go run this under cold water and come back. We’re through the first part.”

“What’s the second part?” Graie asks anxiously.

“The part where the babies come out,” I answer plainly, giving Fiyr a nod as he rushes out of the room with the cloth. “You’re doing fine, Lady Strime.”

“You can call me Sila, Sheyd. We’re friends, aren’t we?” she pants.

Graie’s head jerks toward me and he stares, waiting for me to answer that. _Who?_ I blink. “Yes. Sila. You’re doing great, just push when the next contraction comes. It won’t be long now.”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be a knight,” she mumbles.

_She’s confused. A bit of bleeding, contractions getting closer together, and swollen hands. What does that mean?_ Lightning flashes outside the window. _Think!_ But I can’t remember. I just clutch Sila’s hand and try to stay calm.

Fiyr returns with the cloth and I lay it across her forehead. The ice-cold water drips down the side of her face, washing away some of the sweat that has pooled in her collarbone. She sighs at the relief of the cold against her flushed skin.

“Okay. The first baby is coming, Sila. Here we go. Push!” I instruct her and she wails as her whole body tenses. A minute later, she relaxes again. “Right. You need to relax and breathe as deeply as you can between pushes, okay? This is going to hurt, and it’s going to be really tiring, but you can sleep once they’re both out, okay? Does that sound good?”

“I can do it,” she answers, then a moan builds in her as she starts pushing again. “I think—I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Okay,” I say soothingly. “That’s normal.” I help her lean over the side of the bed a little and she heaves, then vomits onto the floor. _I hope that’s normal. Lady Fennen said they throw up sometimes, right?_ I ignore the smell and every old instinct that would tell me to run off and get something to clean it up with. Everything in me is focused on Lady Strime.

She lets out a gasp of pain.

“Push!” I command.

“I’m bleeding,” she cries.

“I know,” I say, wringing the last of the cold water from cloth and handing it back to Fiyr wordlessly. He runs back into the hall and I thank the Starlaxi for him. “I know, Sila, but you know what? That happens to a lot of women when they’re giving birth. But the Blessing will protect you. You won’t bleed out.”

Sila nods, still looking scared, then groans as her body tenses again. We stay in the room of that inn for hours, Fiyr running back and forth with cooling rags for her, me coaching her through a process I hardly know anything of, and Graie silently breaking down every time she makes an odd or nonsensical remark. He manages to stay calm for her, though, and I’m grateful to him for that.

I keep checking under the blanket, and soon enough a head appears between her legs. The smell of the vomit left on the floor and the image makes my stomach roil but I force myself to think of the worst diagrams of burns, ulcers, boils, that Lady Fennen has shown me. _You’re a healer, and healers have strong stomachs. You need to be strong for Lady Strime._

“I see the head of your first baby!” I announce, forcing a tone of joy. The relief in my voice is genuine, though. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. “You’re doing fine. They’re big, healthy babies, I know they are, and you’re so strong.”

Lady Strime releases a rolling cry that rises and then falls as she pushes harder. I see a forehead, then a face of a little baby, eyes screwed up. Its mother keeps wailing, but she keeps pushing and I see shoulders. I reach out to brace the baby in my hands.

“The first one is almost out,” I soothe. “You can hold your baby in just a moment.”

With another cry that seems to shake the bed, Sila and Graie’s first baby is born. A little girl. I see the birth-cord and suddenly remember the knife in my bag. Relief swamps me as I remember what I need it for. I sever the cord quickly and lift the baby. Graie’s ashen face lights up when he sees her.

“You have a daughter,” I announce and Graie bursts into tears at the sight of her, taking her from me and cradling her in his arms like she’s the most precious thing in the world. “Now for baby number two. This is going to be easy, so much easier, because you’ve already done all the first steps. You just need to keep pushing.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she gasps. “I’m tired, Med Frer, I’m so tired…”

I gulp. “I know you are, but you can do it. Just one more.”

She rocks with pain as another contraction hits and she pushes. Their daughter has started to cry and I breathe a sigh of relief. _She’s healthy. No weak child could scream like that._

The baby’s twin starts to crown and I stroke Sila’s shoulders. “You’re almost done. You’re almost there. After this is over you can sleep for as long as you want. You’re doing a great job.”

Sila wails. Her daughter matches it in volume and Graie holds her hand. “I love you. I love you. You can do it, we have a daughter already. Is she going to have a brother or a sister?”

After more waves of pain and pushing, the second baby is delivered into my waiting hands. “A brother,” I whisper, my voice weak.

Graie breathes out, shaking. “Thank you, blessed Starlaxi. Sila, you’ve done it. You’re done, you can rest now.”

Her head falls back against the pillows and she gasps for breath, half-laughing with relief and joy. I cut his birth-cord and gently pass her son to her and she shrugs off the shoulder of her uniform and brings the baby to her breast.

“We have a son and a daughter,” Graie says. “I can’t believe it. You’ve done so well, love.”

Sila’s breaths begin to slow and she smiles weakly. “I love you.”

Graie leans over her, gently laying their daughter next to their son on her chest and she holds them both close. Thunder booms outside and startles their son into crying.

“They’re both healthy,” I tell them. “The placenta is going to come out soon too, I think.”

“What?” Graie asks blankly, still completely focused on his new children and Silaverre.

“It’s…” I try to remember how Lady Fennen explained it to me. “It’s like... a plate that the mother uses to move food and stuff from her body into the babies when she’s pregnant. After birth, it comes out with the babies.”

And sure enough, a few moments later a strange expression crosses Sila’s face and she tenses, then a bloody mass slides out onto the sheets. Reminding myself to have a strong stomach, I pull open the door of the room’s closet, searching for extra linens. _A pillowcase. Perfect._ I pull it out and quickly wrap the red tissue in the white cloth. The blood soaks through it instantly, but there’s enough assorted other gunk on my hands at this point that I hardly notice. Fiyr stares, looking a little nauseated, and I offer it to him.

“Can you throw this out?”

He keeps staring at me.

I sigh. “Yeah, the innkeeper’s probably going to ask some questions… Just leave it on the dresser for now.” He still doesn’t take it. _I guess there’s a limit to his helpfulness._ I drop the bloody package on the dresser unceremoniously and regard the new parents, unable to help a smile. _I was so scared…_ I hardly even noticed at the time, but now that it’s over, a massive amount of tension eases from between my shoulders and I take a deeper breath than I have in hours.

It’s still pouring outside and I go to the window to close it and hopefully shut out the sound of the thunder cracking; it’s scaring the children. I’m just closing the shutters when I hear Graie.

“Cindra? I think something’s wrong.” His voice is surprisingly steady but I can hear fear at the edges of it. I turn immediately, worry building.

Sila is sitting upright, staring straight ahead with glassy blue eyes. Her breaths come in short bursts and she hardly seems aware of the two children in her arms. Graie takes them back from her, watching her face with naked fear in his eyes.

“Okay, stay calm,” I say, moving to the edge of her bed. “Sila? Can you hear me?”

She swallows and blinks. “No… I don’t wanna get up, Sir Clah, I’m so tired, can I just… sleep in?”

_Confusion. Again. Still?_ I reach out for her, taking her shoulder, and feel a tremor run through her. “Sila?”

“What’s wrong with her?” Graie asks, voice strained. “I thought it was over. The babies are here—it was supposed to be over.”

_What does confusion mean? Swelling in the hands…_ There’s something in my mind but I can’t quite reach it. “Just stay calm, Graie.”

“I’m not trying to get special treatment,” Sila protests, falling back against the pillows, her arms limp at her side. “I have a headache.”

_A headache…_

Her limbs suddenly tense up, her arms clutching her sides, and her mouth lolls open, moving like she’s trying to speak, but no sound comes out. She jerks once. Terror swells inside me. _I don’t know what to do for this! Lady Fennen never said anything about seizures happening after births!_ Did she? I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember.

“What’s happening?” Graie demands again, his voice rising with panic.

“She’s having a seizure,” I say, only half-aware of my surroundings as I reach out to steady Sila. “I don’t…”

“You don’t what?” His voice breaks. “Sila!”

I shake my head, my voice driving up into a wail. “I don’t know why this is happening! I thought…”

The shutters blow open in a great gust. Lightning flashes, lighting up the room, and the pieces finally land in place in my mind. _Swelling before birth. Confusion during. Seizures after._

“She’s having a lightning birth,” I breathe.

“What? What does that mean? Can you help her?” Graie pleads. Fiyr is silent, as helpless as I feel.

I shake my head. “I—Lady Fennen didn’t tell me what to do.”

“What’s going to happen to her?” he asks, looking like he’s fighting sobs.

_I don’t know._ I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Sila’s seizure ends. She slumps against the pillows, breathing hard.

“Sila! Can you hear me?” he begs, trying to reach for her with both babies in his arms.

She writhes against the pillows, clutching her head and wailing. “It hurts! Med Frer, it hurts! Sir Clah, I can’t go on patrol today… please don’t—just let me sleep.”

Tears pool in my eyes as she screams. Graie lets out a cry. “Stay with me, Sila, don’t go.”

I turn away, unable to watch her pained face when I know there’s nothing I can do. _What do you do for a lightning birth, Lady Fennen? How do I help her?_

_The first thing a novitiate needs to learn is that there are going to be times when the patient’s health is out of your hands. You leave it to time or the Starlaxi._

_I can’t believe that!_ Not when Graie is clutching her hand, watching her blank expression and crying. He needs her! Her children need her. She can’t leave them. My breaths come in short bursts.

_Sometimes the only thing is to make them comfortable for their journey to the Starlaxi._

“ _Help her!_ ” Graie is screaming now. “You have to help her!”

“I can’t.” My voice shudders as I fight back tears. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do!”

The confession in the open, Graie has abandoned me and turned back to Sila, pleading with her. “Stay with me. Stay with me, please. I love you, I can’t… don’t go.”

Sila cries out, a shudder running through her, and her hands drop her head. She slumps forward. I can still hear her breathing, though; she’s still alive. She has to be. Graie, a baby in one arm and another in his lap, reaches forward to cradle her face in one hand.

“Please, Sila.” His voice is nothing but a whisper. “Don’t go. Stay with me.”

Her breaths seem to drag in and out of her, then she falls back, away from Graie’s hand, and her body relaxes. Her eyes flicker, slowly and unfocused, to Graie’s face and she lifts a trembling hand. He captures it in his own, still and silent. She lets out one last halting breath, and goes still.

“No…” Graie’s chest heaves as tears wash down his face. He clutches her hand like it’s the last thing tethering him to our world. “No, Sila, wake up. Please. Wake up.”

“She’s gone,” I whisper.

“Please wake up,” he repeats. “We need you.”

I turn away, misery overcoming me.

“Please wake up.”

I look at Fiyr. His cheeks are wet and his gaze is locked on Graie. Neither of us speak as Graie curls over Sila, rocking and sobbing and still pleading her to wake up. I don’t know how long we stay like that. I can’t shake the feeling of helplessness that has settled over me, weighing me down. _I couldn’t save her._

“What’s going on…?”

It’s the last voice in the world I expected to hear. Sir Cawle stands in the doorway of the room, staring incredulously at the four of us. Three. Five.

Fiyr and I, without thinking, draw together to make a wall between Sir Cawle and Graie with his children and Sila. Sir Cawle doesn’t seem to be trying to threaten us, though, he’s just utterly confused. We don’t answer him.

“What is going on here?” he repeats.

“You need to leave.” I find my voice. He blinks.

“Lady Fennen wanted to know where you’d gone—Lady Schorme said that you two rushed out of Brakken’s celebratory dinner without a word to anyone,” he says distractedly, trying to catch a glimpse of Graie over our heads.

“We should go back,” Fiyr admits, his voice rough. “Graie…”

“What happened?” Sir Cawle asks.

We both ignore him. “Graie, we should take your children back to the castle,” I say tentatively. “Lady Fennen can check them over and perhaps Lady Flourer will be able to nurse them. She’s due soon.”

He still doesn’t answer. Fiyr moves toward him and puts a hand on his shoulder. I watch tensely, waiting to see how Graie reacts. I can’t imagine what’s happening inside him right now.

“Graie, you can stay with her for as long as you need,” he says softly. “But we need to take the babies back to the castle so Lady Fennen can make sure they’re okay.”

He reacts to that, grabbing Fiyr’s arm with panicked eyes. “No! You can’t take them! They’re all I have… I _need_ them. Don’t take them away from me.”

“We’re not taking them,” I soothe him, pressing back the emotion that rises in my throat at his words. I leave Sir Cawle to make what he may of the situation. “You can see them soon. We just need to get them to safety, okay?”

“I can’t leave her, though,” he whispers.

“You don’t have to,” Fiyr reassures him softly. “You can stay here and come back to the castle when you feel well enough.”

Graie nods, though I’m not sure he’s registered what Fiyr is saying. His gaze is blank and he’s hardly looked away from Sila. I’m scared for him. How is he going to be able to take care of himself _and_ two children after this kind of tragedy?

Fiyr gently takes the two children from Graie, whose face creases in fear, but Fiyr crouches next to him, murmuring too quietly for either me or Sir Cawle to hear him. I look at the babies and only then really take note that they’re naked and exposed to the air. It’s warm enough in here, but it’s cold and rainy outside. We can’t take them out into that without protection. _Well, we’ve already used a pillowcase. I’m sure they won’t mind a sheet missing too._ This innkeeper will be upset about what’s gone on in this room. I hope Thundria can pay them off.

Fingers numb, I reach into the closet and pull out a thin white sheet. Even the soft fabric scrapes roughly on my too-sensitive skin. My brain feels like it’s shut off, while my body is tightly strung. I’m too aware. My cheeks are wet, my hands are stiff, my throat hurts… _She’s gone._ It doesn’t feel real. I’d rather be numb than the sobbing wreck that Graie is.

I turn back and swaddle the babies in Fiyr’s arms with the sheet silently. They’re crying, the sound ringing in my ears and drawing my attention to my own silence. I don’t want to open my mouth because I feel like I might start screaming and not stop.

Shakily, I press past Sir Cawle and leave the room. _We need to go back to the court._ I need to talk to Lady Fennen. I need to find out what I could have done. Fiyr follows me with the babies and I fight the urge to hurry down the stairs faster, to run from them. _What if I kill them too? What if I’ve already done something wrong and now they’re going to die too?_ A tremor grips me and my eyes pool with tears again. _Please, blessed Starlaxi, save them from my failure._

“You’re not taking those back to the court, are you?” Sir Cawle demands.

I turn to see him catching up to Fiyr as we exit the inn, the rain pouring down on us. Fiyr’s face is blotchy and his eyes are red, but he turns on Sir Cawle with a fury belied by the despair on his face. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Sir Cawle looks faintly disgusted. “They are the children of Graie and that Rivien? No court would want half-kingdom children.”

Fiyr just shakes his head at the older knight and turns away to carefully clamber atop Blitz with the children still securely in his arms. The rain drowns out their cries. I stare at Sir Cawle. _They’re_ babies _, how can he say that? What are we supposed to do?_

“Surely you don’t think the queen would accept that filth?” Sir Cawle growls, nose flaring.

My misery and anger swells up inside me, crashing past my numbness and tearing me apart all over again. _What a disgusting man._ I let all my hate for him seep into my gaze, that I’ve hidden for so long. _The soulpath, the threats, the rope-bridge…_ The sheer force of it takes my breath away, but I don’t know how I could put it into words even if I could speak. He catches my eye, sneering, but can only hold my hateful gaze for a few moments before he looks away.

Fiyr has already spurred Blitz into a canter and they’ve set off through the streets of the village of the Sun Rocks. I pull Ashes’s lead loose from the slipknot that was wrapped around the post and mount her, anguish making my movements stiff and slow. I follow Fiyr, who is only a reddish smudge in the distance, the rain slicking my hair to my forehead. I can feel my robes soaking and darkening. It feels appropriate.

In a haze, I track Fiyr all the way back to the castle. I think Sir Cawle is following us, but I can’t be bothered to look back and find out. I hope his horse slips and crushes him. I can’t stop seeing Silaverre’s glassy, blank eyes as she seized. The way her hands jerked, then fell still. The way her last breath escaped her lips and the only sound was Graie’s pleading.

And the sinking certainty that it was my fault.


	17. Chapter 16 - Cindra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brew a nice pot of depresso for this one

Chapter 16 - Cindra

I didn't think things could get worse. I was wrong.

Sir Cawle manages to take a shorter route back to the castle, bypassing us and arriving in the throne room first. Fiyr and I dismount our horses in silence, the only sound the booming thunder and the constant drum of the rain against the stone of the pavilion, the leafy blanket of the tree-tops, and our own bodies. He keeps the children close to his chest, the bundled white sheet turned to a translucent gray in the downpour.

We hurry across the pavilion. My eyes are stuck on Fiyr’s drenched uniform as he runs toward the castle. _What is he thinking?_ Misery dogs at my heels. _He knows that I let her die. Couldn’t be a knight, I’m no healer—_ My leg buckles and I fall to my knees in the rain, slamming into the stone of the pavilion. The pain that shoots through me is nothing compared to the roiling storm inside. The sadness and anger I feel at myself spills out and I let out a hopeless scream. Rain batters my face as I keen, the animalistic wail fading to a trembling cry. I feel no better.

“Cindra!” Fiyr’s turning, coming back to help me up. I grab his arm for support, tears and anguish blurring my vision.

“I killed her.”

“You didn’t. You did everything you could,” he insists.

“But she _died!_ ” I release his arm and go crumbling back down onto the ground, but he’s not letting me go so easily and, hoisting the babies into one crooked arm, he hooks his other arm around me and stands, making me rise with him. “I _let_ her die.”

“That’s not true,” Fiyr answers. I can’t make out his face in the rain, but he seems determined to haul me to the castle. I take a stumbling step and he holds on tightly, making sure I can’t fall apart again. “It’s _not._ You saved lives today. These two are alive because you helped Silaverre through it. Her death wasn’t your fault.”

I shake my head, taking a stuttering breath and knowing that if I try to speak I’m going to scream. I wait until the tide of rage and pain pulls away, then whisper, “But she was my responsibility. I was the healer. I was supposed to… I could have…”

“There was nothing you could do.”

At the grim pronouncement, a hopeless feeling opens up inside me. _Is this what it is to be a healer? To help the few you can and watch the rest die in front of you?_ I need to tell Lady Fennen I’m not cut out for it. If she doesn’t immediately revoke my noviacy when she finds out I let a woman die. _I can’t do it. Not if this is how it feels, not if I have to watch more people die. Not if I have to see every Graie in the world mourn them._ I look up at Fiyr desperately.

“What are we going to do?”

He swallows hard, face still set in stoney determination. “We’re going to get these babies to the healer’s wing, and then we’re going to talk to the queen on Graie’s behalf. Because he’s in no shape to see her now.”

Sudden certainty strikes me. “I need to see Graie,” I whisper, then repeat louder, “I have to see him! I have to—I have to help him.”

Fiyr is surprised. “I… he needs help, but… we can go see him once these two are safe.”

I look down at the two half-hidden faces. They’ve tired themselves out and have now settled down, sleeping pressed against each other in the nest of the sheet. I hope Fiyr’s body heat is keeping them warm. _They have each other._ I’m reminded of Brakken all of a sudden and I remember that he has no idea yet. He must still be riding the wave of joy from his knighting ceremony. _And Mother._ Heartbreak swells in my throat as I remember that these two children are going to grow up without a mother to teach them to read and write, to help them through childhood, and to comfort them in their lowest times… _Because of me._

Fiyr pulls open the castle doors. I hadn’t realized how dark the sky had gotten until the bright torchlight spills across my face. I’m almost hungry for the warmth of the castle, feeling returning to the tips of my fingers, dispelling the numbness. We stumble into the throne room, weighed down by our soaked clothing. My hair hangs in clumps and I feel like once more, I’ve been saved from the water that sought to drown me.

The court is in the throne room, although I don’t know why. _Shouldn’t they be celebrating Brakken?_ They turn as Fiyr and I enter.

Then I spot Sir Cawle on dais and all the energy seems to flood out of my body. _He’s going to tell them what happened in the most unfavourable way possible. He’s going to ruin everything._ I don’t feel strong enough to resist him anymore. I want to slump onto the floor, stop fighting, and just give up.

A whisper runs through the court. Lady Fyrra mouths _the half-court children_ and I close my eyes, praying to the Starlaxi to let me leave, go find Graie, try to make amends for this gaping hole in our lives in whatever small way I can.

The queen calls for silence and I fix my gaze on her dully, waiting for her to take charge. Sure enough, she beckons to Fiyr. “Sir Harte, come to my private chambers so that we may speak. Cindra, take the children to Lady Fennen.”

Almost in a trance, I take them from Fiyr, the sheet sending a shower of droplets across the stone floor as he transfers it to me. They’re heavier than I expected and I cradle them in my arms, staring into their tiny faces. One of them opens two dark eyes and stares up at me. I hold back a cry and hurry through the crowd toward the healer’s wing. The court parts for me but I catch curious stares. Everyone wants a look at the two babies. _What do they expect to see?_

Lady Fennen meets me when I enter the wing. She already has a bassinet prepared, large enough for both, and without a word, she takes each one with great care and lays them onto the clean sheets. Then she begins to gently check each one over, beginning with their heads, brushing her weathered fingers over their skulls, faces, inside their mouths, their ears, and then moving down their bodies.

“How are they?” I hardly dare to whisper.

“Fine,” she answers. “Both are healthy, strong. Sir Cawle told us of the mother. But you know knights. So I think we should sit and speak of what you have seen.”

Taking in a trembling breath, I sit in the chair she gestures to and fold my hands in my lap, still soaked to the bone. Lady Fennen offers me a quilt and when I shake my head, she lays it over my shoulders anyway. My shivers slowly subside. Lady Fennen sits as well, the bassinet between us.

“Tell me what happened,” she prompts gently when I stay silent. Her voice is softer than I’ve heard it and I see recognition flickering deep in her gaze.

“It was a lightning birth,” I admit, my voice weak. My hands tighten their grip on each other as I continue, “She delivered both babies and everything seemed fine, only she was saying really… really odd things. She didn’t know who we were sometimes, or she called us by other names. And then she had a seizure. And after it she was complaining of a headache. I didn’t know what to do and she—she was grabbing her head like this—” I demonstrate, the words spilling out faster and faster and I gasp for breath, “—and then she was… she was gone.”

Lady Fennen is silent for a long time and then nods. “Her face was red? Flushed?”

I nod, trying to breathe without starting to sob again.

“Yes.” Lady Fennen nods again, face set in deep lines. Her eyes crinkle sympathetically. “There was no… no blood moving to her brain. It can happen from lightning births. She is very lucky.”

I stare at her. “How can you say that? She’s _dead_.”

Lady Fennen shakes her head. “No… this is a tragedy. Yes. But if the lightning had… had struck, so to speak, before both children had been brought into the world, they would have died alongside her. There could not be a better outcome for her.”

“But she’s dead,” I repeat.

“That was certain,” Lady Fennen explains, sympathy showing in her eyes. “She was beyond help. No one but the Starlaxi can stop a lightning birth. But the children’s fates were not decided.”

_I… really did save them, then?_ “But if you had been there…”

Lady Fennen shakes her head. “There was nothing to be done.”

I freeze, staring at her. _Then…_ “I can’t be a healer.”

She’s caught off guard. “What?”

“I can’t see people die and know that there’s nothing I can do,” I tell her, my voice catching in my throat. “Thank you for everything you’ve taught me, but I can’t go on.”

Her eyes flash. I’m shocked when I see that it’s anger. “If you saw someone drown, what would you think?”

“What?”

“Would you believe it is your fault, when you cannot swim? Would you expect yourself to learn to swim after jumping into the water?” she continues, buried anger and pain sharpening her tone. “I have mourned away many years for suffering out of my control. There are many in this world we can help. You have lost a lady but saved two children. They need you now.”

I tear my gaze away from Lady Fennen’s flinty gaze and stare down at the two children, a protective urge surging unbidden inside me. _I’m responsible for them now._

“You can take off those novitiate robes now, leave if you feel that it is what you must do,” Lady Fennen continues, her words almost echoing, as if they’ve been spoken before. “Or you can stay. And learn. And save those that you can reach.”

I slip my arms out of the heavy novitiate’s robes, my arms feeling cold with only the thin, pale dress that is still damp with rainwater to protect them. Lady Fennen’s face hardens as I reach behind myself to untie the apron.

“I need fresh robes, these ones got a little wet,” I explain to her, voice trembling. She exhales, relief obvious on her face as she realizes what I’m saying.

“Of course. I will fetch them.”

She marches off to the closet on the other side of the wing and I sit, shivering in just the wet dress. I don’t know if I’ve made the right decision. I think of Lady Flourer, her swollen stomach, and feel fear rise in my throat, but I look at Graie and Sila’s son and daughter and remember Lady Fennen words. _I can stay and learn and save those I can reach._

One of the babies coos—the little girl. I look down at her, feeling tears blossom again. _They’re not going to have it easy, but I’ll help them however I can._

…

The results of Fiyr’s meeting with the queen are relayed to me by him when he leaves her chambers. He approaches me like you would a startled horse, as if he’s waiting for me to collapse again. I can’t fault him; part of me still feels ready to crumble at a moment’s notice. Lady Fennen has knocked some sense into me, though. Whatever I’m feeling, I need to carry on for the children, and for Graie.

“Lady Flourer has agreed to nurse them?” My voice cracks on the words but I train my gaze on Fiyr’s steadily. He nods.

“Lady Tiall had opinions.” He sits in the chair that Lady Fennen left empty, forehead crinkling with stress. “Said that no court would want half-court children. The queen was furious.”

I sigh. _Lady Tiall is very… traditional._ I think Fiyr is also thinking of all the times she offered unsolicited advice on my mentorship. Especially if I happened to be wearing a boy’s uniform that day. _But that’s all in the past now._ My days of being Fiyr’s squire, of sparring with Brakken in the dust or trying not to turn red when Fiyr corrected my archery stance… it’s all in the past. _I wish I could go back._ A tide of emotion chokes me for a moment as I stare into his eyes, then I clear my throat and ask, “And what’s going to happen to Graie?”

Fiyr shakes his head. “Undecided. Or maybe she knows. But she hasn’t shared it with me. Either way, I really should go back to Sun Rocks to see how he is…”

I stand. “No. I have to do this.”

“What?” Fiyr frowns. “But… is that a good idea?”

Resolve hardens in my chest. “I need to ask him to… to forgive me.”

Fiyr’s pale eyebrows rise, but there must be something in my gaze that breaks down whatever other protest he was preparing, and he just nods. “I see. Please… please try to bring him back here.”

Looking into his eyes, I’m suddenly reminded that Fiyr has seen all the tragedy that I have today. _He had to watch his best friend be shattered._ And he knew Lady Strime better than I did. _He’s grieving._ I don’t know what to say to him. He’s not the one I need to see right now. Part of me wants to stay, to find comfort in him, but I have to speak to Graie.

I turn and leave the healer’s wing, feeling the tug in my chest as I leave Fiyr and push back through the crowd, still waiting for answers from the closed door of the queen’s chambers, and walk back out into the rain. _Damn it. I forgot my over-clothes again._ I look up at the sky, letting the rain hit and then drip off my face, considering leaving without it, but then I think of Graie, alone out there in the rain with her body, and turn around.

I hurry up the stairwell as fast as my staff allows me and come out into the knights’ common room. I rummage through the armoire and find two water-resistant cloaks. They’re trimmed with mink fur and I remember a hunting trip with Brakken suddenly. Dwelling on the past is painful, though, so I brush the memories off and run back down the stairs and out the doors of the castle, back into the rain.

I cloak myself in one and try to roll the other into as tight a ball as I can. My footsteps pattering across the pavilion like the raindrops, I run to the stables and lead Ashes back out of her stall. She whickers, disgruntled to be dragged back out into the rain, but I tuck the second cloak into her saddlebag and, bracing my staff against the ground, hook my injured leg into one stirrup and swing myself over the saddle, looping the staff in the strap I’ve fashioned for it. I nudge Ashes into a trot and we set out across the pavilion.

As we step into the patch of empty air that transports us to the forest floor, a white flash lights up the sky. I breathe out, counting the seconds, and then hear the thunder boom. I feel a little more clear-headed, but still. Back out in the rain and alone with my thoughts, I feel right back in that tiny room, watching Lady Strime convulse with the terrible conviction that I don’t know what to do.

_But like Lady Fennen said,_ I remind myself, digging my heels just a little harder into Ashes’s flanks, _I can learn. And I won’t feel like I don’t know what to do. I’ll know if there’s anything I_ can _do._ I still don’t completely believe it. At the very least, could I have helped her suffer less? I press my lips together, drawing in a sharp breath as I remember her pained cries. _She left in agony. Could I have helped her to peace? Would Graie have been in less pain too if he knew she wasn’t hurting?_

Ashes gallops along the side of the cliff and I look out onto the sea, staring at the choppy gray waves and wondering what I could have done differently. As we go, I spot a smudge down on the shoreline. Something makes me pause and, unsure, I pull on Ashes’s reins and draw closer to the cliff’s edge to squint through the downpour at the figure. It’s dark and rainy, but I know it’s Graie.

I swallow hard and swing my leg back over Ashes, unhooking my staff and lowering myself onto the path that’s being turned to mud by the rain. I bring Ashes to the treeline and wrap her lead around the tree, knotting it tightly. I retrieve the cloak that I stashed in her saddlebag, and then walk to the edge of the cliff and sit, not caring that mud is soaking through the borrowed cloak.

As carefully as I can, keeping my grip on my staff, I slide myself over the cliff’s edge and onto a ledge below, then down to the next one until I’ve picked my way down to the pebbly shore. Graie hasn’t noticed me, but now I can see that he’s soaked to the bone, his forest green uniform turned black by the water and his hair plastered to his skull. He’s turned away from me, kneeling over Sila’s body.

As I approach him, I hear a scrabbling sound and I see that he’s digging, hands and forearms covered up to his elbows in mud. Beneath a layer of pebbles, the shore is a mix of clay and dirt. The water has turned it to a mush that he pulls up in handfuls, laying each one on a pile. I don’t know what to say, but feeling the world guiding me, I kneel next to him.

He doesn’t seem to notice me, but I yank up the sleeves of my dress and bend into the shallow grave, forcing my fingers into the freezing cold mud and scooping up a handful, then smear it onto the pile he already started. I’m surprised by the amount he’s already dug out. He must have been digging for a while.

I reach in again, then again, hand over hand we dig, the rain soaking into the earth we expose with each handful. Soon enough, my forearms are slick with the grayish clay and dirt and I’m freezing cold. I hardly notice it, though, as I roll back onto my knees and regard Graie. He wipes his bangs out of his face, leaving a long smear of dirt on his forehead and in his hair. He pants with the exertion and tilts his head up to the sky for several long moments, letting the rain batter his face and wash him clean.

I say nothing, just keep my eyes on him and wait. Finally, he looks down and he reaches out to Sila’s body. She’s wearing a Rivien uniform, not the white of the recently deceased, but there won’t be a vigil for her. No healer is going to wreathe rosemary and thyme on her neck and in her hands to ward off the dead that would claim her before her friends and family have had a chance to say goodbye. I don’t even know what they do for Rivien funeral rites.

Graie stands and then lowers himself to hook his arms under her back and legs, lifting her gently. Her head tilts, the rain hiding her deathly pallor, and her lips part. She could be asleep. With the care of a man who has lost everything, he sets her body down in the grave. He stands again, looking down at her, looking stricken.

Finally, his hand drifts to his neck almost absentmindedly where I see a glimmer of silver. He reaches behind his neck and undoes a clasp to release the necklace into his hands. Not necklace. Locket. His fingers loosen, allowing the silver chain to sway over her body.

“She’s gone.”

And it drops through his fingers, landing on her chest. He breathes, barely audible over the rain, and kneels once more to gather handfuls of the dirt and lay them over her body, beginning with her feet. I reach out, unsure, but when he doesn’t stop me, I scoop up dirt to spread over her legs. It’s slow, and painful, as if the earth is swallowing her up. I know her spirit will be gone from the body soon, though, and she’ll take her place in the Starlaxi.

Is she waiting for us to speak to her, one last time? _Her parents, her friends… they don’t know yet._ I think of King Crukkedaro, the enormous man with eyes that glitter with good humour or burn with rage, the curls of his hair that his daughter inherited, and wonder what he will do. How will he manage? I look at Graie as he lays a handful of clay on her stomach. It crumbles in his hands and fills the creases of the sash of her uniform. He’s crying. I can hardly tell with the rain streaking his cheeks alongside the tears, but his eyes are red. How will _Graie_ manage?

He lowers another handful of clay and mud over her body, his hands cupped as if in offering, then a look crosses his face and he drops it, brushing it aside, and retrieves the locket. I watch him silently as his eyes close, pain flitting across his face, and he brings it to his lips, then slips it into his pocket. I don’t ask. I can guess.

As we continue, filling the grave in until only her pale face remains uncovered, I become aware that Graie is whispering something. I can’t quite make it out, but it isn’t directed at me. I keep spreading dirt across her body, adding more on top of what’s already been covered. He seems unwilling to cover her face. I reach out with a handful of mud, tentative, and place it by her cheek.

“Wait,” he whispers and I freeze. “We have to say goodbye before we cover her head or she won’t be able to hear us.”

His voice is so faint and unsure that I can’t speak for a moment. I just nod.

“She… she was the best person I knew,” he begins, voice shaking so hard he has to stop. “I loved her. More than I’ve ever loved anyone, with more love than I knew was possible. I loved her smile, I loved to make her smile, I loved to see her. I felt safe in her arms. We understood each other in a way that I know I’m never going to understand another person, and I’m never going to forget… never going to forget.”

He looks at me, as if he’s waiting for reassurance. I don’t know what to say. He looks down at her, face crumpling and he starts again. “She made me want to be a better person. I don’t know… I don’t know what I did to find her. Or how I was so lucky that she… that she loved me too.”

The last word is so soft I hardly hear it. I wait for him to speak again and he just shakes his head. “I feel like a part of me is gone. She was the best in me and I’m never going to stop missing her.”

He breaks off and his face crumples as he cries. Finally, he reaches out to take a handful of dirt and he lays it gently on her cheek. His hand stays there for a few moments, cradling her face, then pulls away and keeps going, as her face is covered, inch by inch. I keep my hands by my sides, knowing he has to see himself through this part.

Finally, the last of her pale skin is covered in the dirt, sealing her underground forever. Graie’s hand hovers over where her face was moments before and I reach out and take it.

“Her spirit is going to the Starlaxi, now,” I say, my voice steady. “Her body will be returned to the earth. She’s gone.”

He closes his eyes, fingers tightening around mine, and his shoulders shake with a silent sob. I watch his face, torn apart knowing that I can’t offer comfort. _But maybe there is one thing I can do._

I stand, releasing his hand, and look up at the sky. The clouds obscure the stars that will be coming out soon, but I can still feel the Starlaxi. They’re around us, like Lady Fennen told me. I feel them, watching over me, every generation that’s come before me, my family, the line of Thundrian healers, every squire and knight who has lost a dream on a soulpath, and I draw in a breath to speak.

“Blessed Starlaxi,” I begin, then raise my voice, letting it ring through the rain. “Blessed Starlaxi, we have lost one of our own. Bring her spirit into your noble rank and allow her to find thousands of seasons of rest and safety. Silaverre Strime died in childbirth, bringing the son and daughter of her and Sir Graie Sterrip into our world safely. She is gone but not forgotten and lives on in the memories of her beloved, Graie, her two children, and all those she left behind. We recognize that you have chosen to take her from us now and though we will mourn her passing, we will rest peacefully in the knowledge that you will take her spirit in and allow her to watch over those she loves from the stars.”

As I finish the words, my voice finally gives out and I fall silent. I breathe out shakily and look to Graie, praying that I’ve helped, somehow, and relief swamps me when I see gratitude in his eyes.

“Thank you.” He swallows. “Thank you for coming. You… you must be cold. And wet. I’m sorry, we should…”

I pull out the cloak from under my arm. It’s been tucked there so long I almost forgot, but I hold it out to him. He blinks, then takes it, staring at it as if he doesn’t know what he’s looking at, then unrolls it and pulls it over his shoulders. I don’t know how much it can help him now, since he’s already drenched, but I’m glad there was something I could do, no matter how small.

“There’s another grave here,” he says suddenly, voice rough. “I found the headstone. No name or anything, just flowers laid on it. Maybe a villager, but… I don’t know. I could feel that it was someone from a court. I just… keep thinking about how many lives have been lost. And how much time _we_ lost that we could have spent together. Because of the code.”

I stay silent. I can’t even start to imagine what’s going on inside him right now. All that pain and fear and loss… It makes my breath catch.

“Just so much loss. And pain. For hardly any reason at all,” he continues, his voice getting choppy as another wave of sorrow appears to crash over him. He falls silent, staring out to the gray sea. The rain washes the mud off us.

I don’t know how long it’s been before he turns to me and says, “But I haven’t lost everything, have I? I have a son and a daughter.”

I nod.

“I’m sorry, Cindra.” Misery clogs his throat and he shakes his head, sympathy for me welling in his eyes. “I can’t… I don’t mean to put this on you. You’re too young.”

I shake my head, trying to drag my voice back up out of the deep hole in my spirit. It’s ragged when I say, “Don’t apologize to me. I should be apologizing to you.”

“What? Why?”

_Don’t make me say it…_ “Because… because I let her die.”

He’s stunned and I begin to break apart again.

“Please forgive me, please,” I whisper, voice too weak to raise it further. “I didn’t mean to—I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t… I couldn’t save her. I would have—I’m sorry.”

Graie steps forward and puts an arm around me, hugging me to his chest. I feel myself go limp, hopeful and too exhausted to keep standing up. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There’s not enough of me left to protest.

“You did everything you could for her, and you saved my children’s lives. You might not have been able to save her, but I know that you did what you could and I would _never_ , ever blame you for that.” His words silence me and a tear leaks out the corner of my eye. “Sometimes… sometimes, when we lose someone, it’s not our fault, or a punishment or a message or… or anything. It’s just how life has gone. And it’s never going to feel fair, but we carry on.”

Something in what he’s said strikes a chord inside me and I finally see what I’ve been missing. What Lady Fennen was trying to tell me. _It’s never going to feel fair, but we carry on. You can save those that you can reach._ I pull away from him and force myself to meet his eyes. Hazel, darkened with grief. A mix of yellow and green around the pupil, a mix of determination and unspeakable loss. I breathe out.

“You’re right.”

I step back, and glance back toward the top of the cliffs where I left Ashes. “We need to go back to the castle. Your children need you now.”

…

“I knew what was going on,” the queen admits.

Graie, Fiyr, Lady Fennen, and I all sit in stunned silence at her admission. When Graie and I returned to the castle, the queen called us all into her private chambers to discuss what had happened and what would need to happen going forward; Graie, Fiyr, and I as the witnesses, and Lady Fennen as my mentor and the court healer.

“How could you have known?” I’m the first to respond to the unimaginable revelation. “And why wouldn’t you stop him?”

The queen pauses, training her penetrating blue gaze on Graie. “Perhaps _knew_ is the wrong word to use. I suspected. I… saw the pattern. And I hoped you would choose right.”

Graie shakes his head. “You… I don’t understand. What _pattern_?”

Something falls into place in my mind and I can’t stop myself, the names bursting out of me. “Meistya and Stowen.”

If I didn’t know to look for it, I wouldn’t have ever noticed the queen’s reaction. But staring at her intently, I see it. A near-imperceptible shiver that runs across her, the barest flinch in the way her chin moves as she transfers her gaze to me. A buried secret in her gaze.

Lady Fennen snatches my arm and holds it tightly, not painfully, but enough to stop any follow-up words. _She knows._ But it’s too late anyway—Fiyr and Graie already knew about my wild theory. The theory that suddenly seems less ridiculous as the queen’s eyes bore into mine.

“Meistya and Stowen?” she repeats, a half-hearted expression of confusion flitting across her face like she’s deliberating whether to lie or not and building herself an out.

We wait, watching her, then she eventually dips her head.

“This does not leave this room,” she begins, levelling her gaze at each of us individually, excepting Lady Fennen. “But… yes. I saw the pattern in your behaviour, Graie, because it was _mine_. Because when I was a young, foolish knight, I…” Her jaw tightens, then words that have been inside her for decades pour out. “I fell in love with a Rivien knight. We had three children.”

It’s not exactly what I expected to hear and I’m left with more questions than answers. _Three?! And who was the knight?_

“I was lost in our court,” she explains, gaze clouding with memories. She speaks as if she’s in a trance, hardly to us anymore. “And so I looked elsewhere to find myself. But I found him instead.”

_Who?_ I don’t ask. _Is she going to tell us? What would it change now, anyway?_

“Oeak Hahrte.”

The name drops into the silence like a stone into a pool, creating ripples of shock and disbelief over all of us. _Meistya said he was like a father to them. Because he was their father. He was killed in battle against Thundria…_ I’m sickened to realize just how right Graie was. _The lives lost between our courts…_

None of us say a word as the queen takes in a breath. “I couldn’t keep my children, I knew. I was being groomed for greatness by my old mentor, Su—the King of the Sun. We had plans for the court, for Thundria’s future, and I knew that everything was on the verge of being snatched away. Sir Cawle—Sir _Thissel_ Cawle was a favoured choice to succeed the king while I wasted away in the nursery. I was never meant to be a mother, I see it now clear as day.”

_So she sent them to live with their father? How did the Rivien court not question where the children had come from?_

“So I gave them up. They were… so young. I wonder sometimes if they have any memories of me at all.” She shakes her head. “Because of my ambition, my foolish ideals… my daughter froze in the Thundrian winter. She was sick—I needed to bring all three of them to the shore like Oeak and I agreed… but she didn’t make it.”

Long hidden pain covers her face for a moment, then she takes a breath and begins again. “I said they were taken in the night. I grieved. And then I became queen.”

I’m so taken into her story that I momentarily forget my surroundings. It’s not until she clears her throat and looks at Graie that I snap back to the present.

“But Graie… it wasn’t easy for me. And it will be harder for you. We need to decide what to do, and we need to decide quickly because our court has questions. I assume the Riviens do not know?” He nods, looking strained. “Then we do not have long before they come calling. So what are you going to do?”


	18. Chapter 17 - Fiyr

Chapter 17 - Fiyr

I’m still reeling after the queen’s revelation from a few days ago.

Time is passing in a bit of a haze—the court is on edge as the word spreads that the two babies in the nursery are Graie and a Rivien’s and that Rivier still doesn’t know of her death, but I don’t share their apprehension. Not when Graie spends every day in his room, staring at the wall and clutching a silver chain in his hands.

All I can think of is the unnatural movements of Silaverre as her body was wracked with the seizure, the way she grabbed her head, and then the way she stilled. It’s not the first time I’ve seen someone die; I watched Graie cut Sir Fiace’s throat and I saw Sir Calew fall to his death. But it’s not quite the same. I’ve been bracing to watch someone be felled in battle since I learned to hold a sword.

The way Silaverre was fine one moment, then gone the next, though… I don’t know if I’ll ever be prepared to watch someone die like that. With no warning, when there was nothing anyone could do… And I know it’s worse for Graie. I want to help him, but I don’t know how. All I can do is come to his room every morning and ask him if he wants me to bring him something to eat. On the dawn of the third day after Silaverre’s death, he looks up.

“Do you want me to bring you some breakfast?” I ask softly, staying in his doorway, not wanting to intrude on him.

Graie gives me a long look, then says, “I’m going to come to the dining hall. We can eat together.”

I try not to show the relief that crashed over me like a tidal wave and give him a nod instead. “I’m glad to hear it.” _Like we did before._ I feel a pang of guilt. _Am I rushing him? I shouldn’t force him to go back to normal. Not when that’s impossible now._

I watch him for a moment longer as he turns back to the wall, the delicate chain still gripped tightly in his hand. _A gift from Silaverre?_ Suddenly feeling as though I’m seeing something I shouldn’t be, I turn and leave the doorway and walk back down the stairs to the throne room. _He’s going to come out and have breakfast. That’s good._

I head toward the kitchens to fetch us both something to eat and meet Samn on the way. “Graie’s going to eat breakfast with us.”

“Really? That’s good, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I thought,” I say. “I’m just worried that I’m rushing him.”

Samn shakes her head, staring into space, seeming unable to offer me assurance. “I don’t know. He’s… I have no idea what’s going on in his head.”

I’m grateful someone shares the feeling, at least. She was as horrified as everyone else to find out what was going on, but for someone who’s grown up in Thundria, she surprised me with her compassion towards Graie. She seems to understand that there’s no point in punishing him for breaking the code when he’s lost everything already. More than that, I’m relieved that she understands why I didn’t tell her about it—she says she knows it wasn’t my secret to tell, at least, and I want to believe her when she says she’s not upset I kept it from her. Something going right in my life right now is unspeakably precious. We find Lady Tiall and Sewif on kitchen duty and ask for breakfast. As we wait, the queen joins us.

“Sir Harte, I hoped to catch you before you left on a patrol,” she greets me. “I need you to travel to Rivier and deliver them word of Lady Strime’s death.”

I’m stunned out of words for a moment, then blink and ask, “Your Majesty? Am I… to tell them of the children as well?”

The queen sighs. “I believe there is no way to avoid it. Yes. You must bring the king _all_ of the news. She was his daughter, after all.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” _Oeak Hahrte. Her husband, or at least the father of her children, and his brother, the king, and his daughter…_ The tangled secrets feel like they’re burning a hole in my throat. Samn doesn’t know. _It’s not my secret to tell_

The queen leaves and I watch her go, noticing her hair. She hasn’t fixed the cut from the battle—it’s still ragged and uneven, swaying as she returns to the throne room to deal with the patrols of the day. I breathe out as she disappears.

“That’s not a job I’d want,” Samn says sympathetically as we take our plates from Sewif. “King Crukkedaro is going to be livid.”

_I don’t think that’s the right word,_ I think, but don’t voice the thought. _I would just be horribly, horribly sad._ I think of the man who walked side by side with our queen when he offered to help us after we got stranded on the solstice pavilion. The man who gave us shelter when Graie and I rescued Meistya’s children. I’m more concerned about what he’ll do when he finds out that he has grandchildren, though. Despite Sir Cawle’s assertion that no court wants half-court children, I’m scared that King Crukkedaro is going to fight tooth and nail to bring them to Rivier. And mostly importantly, I’m afraid of what that’ll do to Graie.

As if on cue, Graie shambles through the doorway of the dining hall. He comes over to our table and I slide the plate of steaming eggs across it to him. Now, in the brightly-lit dining hall, I can better appreciate how bad he looks. I don’t think he’s washed in the past three days judging by the musty smell as he arranges his sleep-clothes and the greasy gleam of his ruffled hair. His eyes are red and his cheeks just slightly crusted with the tracks of dried tears—he’s been crying. Sympathy wells in me.

“Thanks,” he rasps, picking up his fork and pushing the eggs around his plate idly. He must be hungry; I don’t know how much he’s been eating these past few days but he hardly leaves his room, so it can’t be much at all.

“How are you?” Samn asks. I cringe a little. _What do you think?_

Graie looks up and blinks, then looks back down at his eggs, silent.

“How are you?” Samn repeats.

I try to shake my head at her but she’s watching Graie. _He heard you, he just doesn’t want to talk about it!_ “Samn…”

“Bad,” Graie answers, looking up at her and narrowing his eyes.

“Uh, Graie, the queen asked me to go to Rivier,” I say, trying to change the subject. “I’m going to talk to the king.”

Graie nods, closing his eyes as if he’s weathering some kind of blow, then opens them again and says, “Are you going to tell them about F—about the children?”

“Yeah, the queen said to,” I admit. “I don’t know… I don’t know what the king is going to do.”

“What if he wants them to come to Rivier?” Samn puts in and I wince. “What are you going to do?”

Graie’s brow furrows and he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“It could turn into a fight,” Samn thinks aloud. “If King Crukkedaro is determined to get them back…”

_What is she doing?! This is not what Graie needs to hear right now!_ “Uh, Graie, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the silver chain you have?”

“Oh, it’s…” Graie places it on the table in front of us, uncovering that it’s not just a chain; there’s a ovular metal ball with intricate carvings on it attached to the chain like a gemstone on a necklace. I inspect it closer and realize that it’s not just a ball; it’s two halves bound together by a delicate clasp. “It’s a locket.”

_With a picture of Silaverre,_ I guess, though he makes no move to open it. “How did you get it?”

Graie takes back the locket. “Riviens carry lockets with their own portraits with them. It’s for funeral rites; they think that if you’re buried with your own image that you’ll have a clearer image in the Starlaxi. She gave me this and said she’d get a new one.”

I nod.

“I should have buried it with her,” he says. “She did replace it but… it seems wrong.”

“You could give it to one of your kids when they’re older,” Samn suggests. “If they’re still Thundrian.”

“ _Samn!_ ” I snap.

Graie flinches. Samn looks surprised at my tone.

“Stop talking about them leaving. They’re staying in Thundria,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite my evaporating patience. _Why is she talking about that now?! Especially in front of Graie!_ Dread fills me. _I know she thinks Graie made a huge mistake, but can’t she be a little more thoughtful?_

She shrugs. “I hope so.” Then she glances at Graie. “I’m sorry, is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’ve done plenty,” he answers and pushes back from the table, then storms out, abandoning his plate. He’s barely touched his eggs.

I stare at Samn. “Why would you talk about his children being taken from him?’

She blinks. “He needs to think about it, doesn’t he? Wouldn’t it be better if he braces for the possibility?”

“ _No!_ ” I exclaim. “Or—at least, not _now!_ He just lost Silaverre. I don’t think reminding him that he could lose his children too is what he needs right now!”

“But you heard him, he said I’d done plenty,” she protests.

“He was being _sarcastic,_ Samn!” I snap.

She seems taken aback. I stare at her. _Is she serious?_

“I just wanted to help,” she finally says. “I didn’t know he’d react like that.”

“You were talking about him losing his children,” I repeat. “Of course he’d react badly.”

“I’m sorry, okay? Sorry.”

“Apologize to _him!_ ” I exclaim, then abruptly think better of that. “No, wait. You should leave him alone for a while. Just… give him some space, okay?”

“I just wanted to help,” she repeats, looking a little wounded at my harsh tone.

I shake my head. “We all do. But I…” I bite my lip, not wanting to start a fight but still feeling like it needs to be said. “You’re not the greatest at reading people’s emotions, okay? I think maybe just… staying out of his way and doing something if he asks you to is the best way to go.”

Far from getting angry, Samn’s face floods with relief. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I’m a little surprised at her reaction, but I’m glad she’s not upset.

“I keep trying to say the right thing and then it blows up in my face,” she admits, the confession rushing out like she’s kept it bottled up for a while. “No one ever does what they’re supposed to.”

I let out a half-laugh at her plight, but nod. “It’s okay. The Dusses of the world can offer gentle words and compassion and you can just be there for Graie if he needs you. It’s enough to do that.”

She snorts at my poor attempt at a joke, but a genuine smile crooks up the edge of her mouth, mixed with sadness but real all the same. “What… what was Lady Strime like? I remember her from that meeting when we wanted to find out what the Riviens knew of Sir Hahrte’s death, but...”

I think back to the first time I met her, when she saved Graie from the ice, then the times I chased after her to demand that they separate, the time we faced each other in battle when Rivier and Shodawa attacked Wynnd and how Graie pleaded with us… “She wasn’t very friendly, exactly, but she… she had a certain self-assurance about her.” I thought it was ego at the time. She made it easy to slot her into the stereotypical daughter of the king, expecting everything to go her way and for everyone to bend the knee to what she wanted, but now I wonder if there was more underneath all that. “She seemed clever, and she was definitely a dangerous opponent in battle.”

Samn arches a brow.

“Yeah, I fought her,” I admit, reddening in shame. _I was being so stupid. How could I have tried to hurt her when every blow would have struck deeper in Graie? Was my animosity toward her really more important than my friendship with Graie, even if I thought it was over?_ “I know. But… she was brave.” I lower my voice. “And I saw her try to run Sir Cawle through when he was grappling with the king of Rivier.”

“Damn. Wish she’d succeeded,” Samn mutters, shaking her head. “It doesn’t even feel real. One minute everything’s fine and the next…”

She gestures vaguely. I nod.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” I can picture her so vividly, in her Rivien uniform, her pale fingers covered in rings, her flinty blue gaze… It seems so strange to think that life will continue, but we’ll never see her by the border, I’ll never cover for Graie again, and she’ll never be standing by the monarch’s platform at the solstice pavilion ever again. She was here, and now she’s not. _Is she in the Starlaxi?_ “It’s… She was our age. And now she’s… up there or whatever, hanging out with the founders, cooking up prophecies…”

I shake my head. _Who’s going to be next?_

“And what is Graie going to do when Rivier finds out about the children…?” Samn wonders.

“I don’t know. But whatever he chooses, I’ll support him. Even if it means war,” I decide aloud. Samn doesn’t answer. “I should probably head out if I want to get to Rivier with time to come back.”

“I could take Briatte out and come along for the ride,” Samn offers.

“Just to the border?” I confirm and she nods. “Sure. That would be great. I’m going to check on Graie first, though.”

…

I wait by the shore, trying to flag down a patroller boat for what feels like hours. By the time a boat comes into view, my fingers are stiff with the cold. I’ve already found a sheltered place by the cliffs to keep Blitz, so I stand alone, waiting for the boat to make it to shore. I have _Fireheart_ , but it’s sheathed at my side. I won’t have to use it, the Starlaxi willing.

As the boat approaches, I recognize the figures within.

“Lady Fore, Sir Clah,” I greet the two knights.

The captain of the guard’s face is impassive but Bellack Clah acknowledges me with a smile. I almost want to ask him how Reid, Roos, and Perrich are doing, but think better of it. _I have a mission._

“Sir Harte. Back on our territory, I see,” Lady Fore remarks, though her tone isn’t hostile.

I give her a little bow. “Well, not yet. And only with your permission.”

“What do you want from us?” she pursues, unaffected by my show of decorum.

I hesitate. _Here we go._ “I… I need to speak to King Crukkedaro Star.”

Leaparra blinks slowly, unmoving. “About what?”

I grit my teeth. _It’s been three days. They must have noticed her disappearance._ “About what happened to one of your knights.”

“Lady Strime?” Sir Clah bursts out. Leaparra shoots him a quelling look and he falls silent.

“I see. Well, then, come on.” She motions for me to step into the boat and I do, grabbing a hold of the waxed wood and transferring my weight onto the floor that sways a little with the water. “I’m sure the king will want to hear what you have to say.”

_I don’t think so,_ I think grimly, but just dip my head and wait as Sir Baley and Sir Clah grab hold of the oars and begin to rock back and forth, thrusting us in one smooth movement out into the water. I’m taken back to the night when Graie and I rescued Sir Clah’s children and how we had to stay the night. _How Silaverre pretended not to know us. How Graie found out he was going to be a father._

I shake off the memories. _Remember the mission, Fiyr._

Sir Baley and Sir Clah are focused on their rowing and Lady Fore doesn’t seem interested in making conversation, so the time that elapses on our way to the Rivien galleon seems like it’s stretching on forever. I don’t know how they know where to go; once the shore fades from sight, the gray sea and pale sky seems identical in every direction. Sometimes I think I can make out the smudge of islands, but then the wind will change and mist will sweep across us, obscuring it. I give up after a while and just try to avoid Leaparra’s piercing stare. _What will the king do?_

I wonder about Silaverre’s mother. _I don’t remember if I ever learned her name._ I have to hope that she and Crukkedaro can lean on each other through this, because if the king feels like his grandchildren are all he has left, I fear what he’ll do.

Finally, after what must be at least an hour of rowing, with Sir Clah and Lady Fore trading places halfway through, a mountainous ship comes into view. I’ve only seen it docked in the harbour on the island that hosts their spring encampment and that perspective didn’t give me a chance to appreciate just how enormous the ship is.

The sails tower into the sky, almost blindingly white in the sunlight, like branches sprouting from a thick, unnaturally smooth trunk that is fixed in the centre of the enormous ship. The sides of the galleon are fashioned from dark oak planks, scrubbed clean at the top and crusty with salt and barnacles at the bottom. _How in the name of the Starlaxi are we going to get up there?!_ I wonder silently. _Is there some hatch that opens?_

I’m answered when Sir Clah produces a thickly coiled length of rope, so long it almost covers his whole arm, from under a seat. It’s forked like a snake tongue at one end, and he attaches the two prongs of the fork to either end of the boat, looping it through the iron hooks and pulling it tight. Lady Fore manoeuvres the boat over to the edge of the galleon until we’re nearly underneath it.

“ _Up!_ ” Sir Baley bellows as Sir Clah winds up, then launches the rope almost directly up into the air. I watch as it unspools, flying all the way up to the rail where a silhouette has appeared, dark against the sunlight. It doesn’t come back down and the rope goes taut against the side of the ship.

A moment later, the rest of the rope is thrown back over the edge and Lady Fore grabs it before it even lands on the deck. She passes a length along to the men and she counts aloud, then they start pulling. With one good yank, the boat is suddenly lifted out of the water and my heart jumps into my mouth. Sir Clah puffs a laugh when he sees my reaction.

The two knights keep up with the captain’s count and we’re hauled up the side, little by little, until we finally come up over the side of the rail. I finally catch sight of the entire deck of the galleon stretching out before me, at least a dozen Riviens milling about.

“Secure!” a Rivien I don’t recognize calls, and one by one, Sir Clah, Sir Baley, and Lady Fore hop out of the boat and onto the massive deck of the galleon. Lady Fore glances back expectantly and I’m momentarily transfixed by the sight of the waters below, swirling around the edge of the ship, then also tentatively grab the rail and get out of the boat. My heart jumps as I balance with one foot over the rail and one still in the boat, then I swing myself over and onto the deck.

I feel a little more confident now that there’s more between me and a watery death than a couple feet of wood, but the imperceptible sway of the floor still makes my stomach turn. _I wonder how many Thundrians have been on this ship. And how many have thrown up._

I look around the deck of the ship, trying to lock everything into my memory. A couple Rivien knights have brought wheeled wooden supports over to where our boat still hangs over the edge of the ship. I see now that there’s a big iron bar running horizontal to the deck that is supported by two more iron bars that are implanted in the deck. The rope that my Rivien escorts used to pull us up is wrapped around it, anchoring the boat to the ship’s floor. Stowen Feur and a woman I don’t recognize grab either end of the boat and raise it over the railing, then lower it onto the wooden supports. Once it’s safely on the deck, the woman undoes the knots that Sir Clah made on either end of the boat and starts to rewrap the rope. Sir Feur wheels the boat away, off toward the side of the ship where I see another dozen boats identical to ours lined up, also lifted off the deck by the wooden supports.

“Follow me,” Lady Fore grunts and I snap back to reality, remembering my task.

She leads me across the deck toward the back of the ship, where I see a second deck that is layered over the one we stand on now. Two sets of stairs on either side of the main deck lead up to it, split in the middle by a wall with two windows and a door. _The king’s chambers?_

When she knocks, a voice sounds from within almost instantly.

“Enter!”

Lady Fore pushes open the door and ushers me inside. Apprehension climbs up my throat and I swallow hard, stepping into the gloomy room. Two torches flicker on the walls, but they’re not enough to illuminate the entire room, which is quite big. It reminds me of the queen’s private chambers; the desk in the middle is familiar, as are the papers strewn all across it, lit by a single candle.

Alone at the desk sits the king of Rivier. He’s rendered almost monstrous by the flickering torchlight, a molten orange line tracing along his broad shoulders and glinting off the curls of his hair. He raises his head when I enter and his gaze flashes in the torchlight for a moment, his face illuminated. I study his hooked nose—the one Silaverre shared, his asymmetrical jaw, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the pallid cast off his skin for a heartbeat, then bow deeply.

“Light, Lady Fore,” he rasps. “A Thundrian?”

She removes a torch from the wall and moves about, lighting the others. I dip into the fifth dimension and sense the faded imprint of fire—the torches burnt down and he didn’t replace them.

“Your Majesty,” I say, suddenly feeling very unequipped to deliver this man word of his daughter’s death. “I…”

When I trail off and don’t begin again, Lady Fore prompts me. “He said he had information of Silaverre.”

The king’s back straightens like lightning’s struck him, his whole body reanimating at her words. “Then speak!”

I search his gaze, so hopeful and scared and helpless and desperate—and I shake my head. “She’s… she’s dead.”

He is completely still for a moment that stretches into eternity. I can’t meet his gaze, but I can’t look away, so I just stand, watching this man as he realizes he’s lost his daughter. He doesn’t speak. His eyes unfocus, and though I’m still staring into them, he’s almost looking past me like he’s seeing another invisible figure in the room. Something passes across his face, something infinitely painful, then he closes his eyes.

“In childbirth.”

His voice is so low and rough it’s almost lost in the air between us. But the words are unmistakable, even though I didn’t expect them. _He knows._

“Yes,” I whisper.

I wait for his next words and he cradles his face in his hands, covering his eyes. I think I see a tremble run over his shoulders, but I can’t be sure. I don’t know how much time passes before he says,

“And her children?”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. _How do I explain this? I have to. The queen knows what she’s doing by having me bring him the news; she has to know._ “With their father. She… she was in love with a Thundrian. Graie Sterrip, the man who helped me—”

“Of course,” he whispers.

Lady Fore does not react to this as gently as her king.

“What?! The father was Thundrian?” she demands.

I nod, still unable to look away from King Crukkedaro. “They’re healthy and cared for in Thundria. Two children, a boy and a girl—Sir Sterrip and the ladies of the court and Lady Fennen are all making sure…” I don’t think the king can hear me. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You need to leave,” Lady Fore says, voice low and menacing, and I nod, already backing away.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, bowing to the king and then rushing out of the room.

As I’m escorted back off the galleon, into one of the patrol boats, lowered to the water by more wrangling of rope contraptions, and rowed to Thundrian shores, my mind runs around in the same circle of thoughts.

His eyes in the torchlight.

How he already knew he lost her to childbirth.

How he asked after the children immediately.

And finally, the resolve evident in his face as I backed out of the room.

_He’s willing to tear down the world to get those children._


	19. Chapter 18 - Fiyr

Chapter 18 - Fiyr

Queen Bluelianna is troubled but not surprised by what I tell her.

“I thought that might be the case.” She sighs heavily and I wonder if she regrets telling me to be honest about the children. “I believe you will be proven right. He suffered a great loss and with the wound so raw… he may act rashly.”

I say nothing but inwardly, remembering King Crukkedaro’s eyes, I think, _He didn’t seem volatile. Just… hopeless. And in so much pain._ But I don’t doubt that he’ll end up in the same place however he’s feeling. _He needs those children. But so does Graie. And we’re all going to be caught in the bloodshed if we can’t reach an agreement._

“One more thing, Sir Harte,” the queen says, catching me before I stand to leave her chambers. “I know that Clowd is young, and I would never suggest this if it weren’t for his… unique… situation, but I think that he should be made a squire.”

I blink. “Your Majesty?”

She waves her head. “I know, he’s only ten, but… surely you’ve noticed. He’s taller than Thorrin, stronger than Sewif, and he doesn’t behave at the same level as Faern. I would never break the knight’s code, but…” There’s no delicate way to put it, and she knows. “He isn’t ever going to be a twelve year old boy.”

I cringe but nod. “You’re right.”

“And I want you to mentor him.”

“ _What?_ ”

The queen arches an eyebrow and I cut myself off, flushing red at my outburst.

“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” I say, “but it’s… mentors aren’t supposed to be close relatives of squires. It’s not appropriate.”

“I’m well aware, Sir Harte.” Her lips have a wry twist and I blush deeper. _Of course she knows._ “But there is not a member at this court who can show Clowd the same compassion and guidance that I believe you can. And… quite frankly, you know what it is to be an outsider. I know that the court murmurs about him, and I will change it when I can, but it isn’t entirely within my control. They murmured about _you_ that way, but they respect you now.”

There’s a certain light in her eyes that makes me wonder if what she’s saying holds a second meaning that she’s keeping to herself. “My queen, I…”

“I want you to teach Clowd the same strength,” she continues. “I believe you’re the man for the job and I hope you have the same faith in yourself.”

At her implicit praise, I can’t find the words to argue. _Clowd’s difficult… but who else is there? Darriek? Liang?_ Sir Cawle _? Over my dead body._ “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll mentor him.”

She gives me a rare genuine smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Flustered and taken aback, I bow deeply and hurry out of her chambers. _I didn’t expect to get another squire so soon. I mean, it’s been years since Cindra’s accident… but I was sure she’d choose someone else for Clowd since I’m his uncle. At the earliest, I thought I might get Faern, but…_ I’m about to go find Samn to tell her the news when I’m stopped in my tracks by the queen’s voice.

“Let all of the court that have demonstrated their life-force gather for a court meeting!”

_Oh, so we’re doing it_ now _,_ I think, wincing. _Not even gonna give me time to adjust to the idea, eh? Just jumping right in._

As the court floods into the room, I spot Graie stumbling down the stairs of the knight’s wing. He’s changed out of the sleep-clothes that he wore at breakfast, which I think is a good sign, though his skin is just as pale and the spots under his eyes just as dark. It’s familiar, but it takes me a moment before I remember where I last saw it. _King Crukkedaro._

I catch sight of Cindra through the crowd as well; she hardly looks better than Graie. Her face is carved from stone, unmoving and somber. She meets my gaze and I try to gauge how she’s doing. She doesn’t seem on the verge of a meltdown, which I have to guess is a good sign, but there’s a certain darkness to her eyes that makes me think I should check up on her soon.

I turn back toward the dais as the queen begins to speak.

“By now, I am certain you are all aware of what transpired three days ago. For those unaware, Sir Sterrip and Lady Strime of Rivier were carrying on an affair that produced two children. Their birth resulted in her death.” It’s not a surprise to anybody, but it’s hard not to notice how every gaze in the court swivels to Graie. He doesn’t flinch, nor does he meet their eyes. “The children are being kept in our nursery. Lady Flourer is due within the month and can nurse them.”

I glance over at the mentioned woman. Someone brought out a chair for her to sit in and listen to the ceremony; nine months pregnant with twins can’t be easy on her legs. _Without even mentioning that they’re_ Sir Cawle’s _,_ I think. _I wonder what kind of father he’ll be to those poor children._ The Starlaxi willing, we’ll drive him out before they have a chance to know him. _They’re innocent and I don’t want to give him one second of a chance to influence them._

“Sir Sterrip will not be punished for breaking the knight’s code,” the queen continues, her gaze roving over the crowd as if she’s waiting for dissent. “He has lost enough. I have no doubt that he recognizes the mistake.”

No one does speak up, and I’m grateful for it. The last thing Graie needs is someone in his own court trying to punish him when he’s already at his lowest point.

“I also have a ceremony to perform.”

_That_ causes a river of whispers to flood the room. No one expected it. _I didn’t either,_ I think. _This isn’t going to go over easy with the court._

“Clowd has reached the _maturity_ required to become a squire of Thundria,” the queen begins, and as I guessed, it lights the court on fire with confusion and murmurs. “He is not twelve years old, but he is a special case. I call upon the Starlaxi to recognize this boy. He wishes to learn the way of the knight and one day join your noble rank. Clowd, you will train under Sir Fiyr Harte until you reach your full potential and take on the name of a full knight.”

I try to force back the red flush that creeps up my neck as I step forward to accept my new responsibility. I catch a few stares as I move through the court. Clowd stands defiantly on the dais next to the queen, looking like he’s daring someone to speak up. As I come up to stand next to him, I note that his hair is combed into downy white waves and his fingernails are clean. _Lady Faise must have already known. At least the queen told_ someone _in advance._

“Sir Harte, you were trained well by Sir Cawle and you will pass on all you’ve learned to this young squire.”

Sir Cawle is playing the perfect proud mentor, a restrained smile on his face. I stare him down, stomach turning as I recall his threats to Graie after the battle against Rivier and Shodawa.

“I call upon the Lunar Crystal to give this boy his life-force ring!”

The whole court seems to hold its breath as the queen knocks her sceptre against the ground. _Will the Starlaxi accept him?_ I don’t know how sentient the white mist is, or how much agency the Starlaxi has in choosing who gets a life-force ring and who doesn’t—I’ve never heard of someone being _rejected_ by it, but Clowd’s nothing if not the exception to every rule.

But after a moment that hangs in the air like a dropped mirror, a tendril of mist emerges from where the sceptre touched the ground. Then it’s joined by another, and another, until a small cloud of white rises to engulf Clowd’s hand. I’m relieved by how Clowd bounces with excitement, staring into the pearly mist with great intensity. _See? He’s just like every other squire. Super excited to get his life-force ring, eager to go patrolling and to learn to fight… everything’s normal. He’s just a bit different... inside._

Except when I look back out into the crowd, I see discontent spread over many familiar faces. Liang and Darriek look disgusted, which doesn’t surprise me, but more than that… Sir Eyre and Lady Fuor are frowning, Lady Fyrra’s arms are crossed, and even Sir Wynnd looks uneasy. It puts me on edge. _Are they going to say something?_ But I glance back at Clowd, and for a moment, I feel as though I’m seeing him as they see him. He’s tall; _really_ tall, past my shoulder already and he hasn’t hit his growth. His eyes are a blue paler than the sky, which I think makes him look like he’s daydreaming but could be seen as unnerving.

More than that, he doesn’t look _Thundrian._ His skin is too fair, like mine, his nose curves up at the end, making a little snub rather than the straight point of the rest of the court, and his face is softer and rounder where they have angles. _But that’s from Prin. Most of that applies to me too. It’s not because he’s half-god._ He has the unnatural hair of a courtborn, and so did Prin. _His strangest traits are from my_ sister _, he’s not weird because of his father. Whoever that was._

I look at the queen for assurance and she gives me a nod, a glint of steely resolve in her eyes. _As long as she holds the power at court, Clowd will be safe._

“We’ll forge his sword tonight,” she murmurs to me. “Why don’t you show him the territory?”

_Which I’m guessing is code for ‘get him out of the castle before a riot starts’,_ I think, and bow. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Lady Faise summoned a horse for him last night. The last stable on the squire’s side,” the queen informs me, then turns and steps down from the dais, making a beeline toward Graie.

I watch her go, wondering what she’s going to talk to him about, but decide to ask him about it later and instead turn to Clowd. “Go get your new uniform and then we’ll head out.”

He nods, hurrying back into the nursery. I suspect Lady Faise added it to their wash yesterday and he’s been admiring it all night. A few minutes later, he reappears in a crisp, pale green tunic.

“Well, are you ready to learn how to ride?”

“I know how to ride,” he answers, a note of exasperation in his voice. I start off toward the doors of the castle, giving the members of the court who are still hanging around the throne room a wide berth as we leave. “Lady Faise taught Faern and me _ages_ ago.”

_Right. Is that something ladies of the court usually teach their children?_ I try to think back to Cindra’s year as my squire. _She knew how to ride, didn’t she?_ “Well then, we can get straight to exploring the territory.”

“It’s not exploring if everyone’s already been on it,” Clowd corrects me. “There’s nothing left to explore.”

I close my eyes as I push the doors to the castle open, rallying my patience. _Blessed Starlaxi, give me the strength to deal with my smartass nephew._ “That’s true. But you’ll be seeing it for the first time.”

“No, remember when Faern and I went out and I caught the deer?” he reminds me, his chest puffing up a little at the memory. “And when we came along for the battle but then Brakken dragged us back to the castle. And when we visit Mom.”

I cringe. _Wow. He has been terribly behaved. And it's pretty much my fault._ “Yeah, well, now you’re actually _allowed_ to go outside. And I’ll teach you to hunt with a bow and fight with a sword and…” I trail off and he realizes why I cut myself off instantly.

“And hide my ‘life-force.’” Bitterness colours his tone and I’m swamped with sympathy and guilt. Clowd stops in his tracks and crosses his arms.

“No, you just…” I shake my head. “We’ll figure it out as we go along. You’re going to do great things for the court, I know you will.”

He scowls and l move to continue toward the squire’s stables, but he lifts his chin stubbornly and I pause.

“What’s the point of this?” He points at the ring on his finger; a white granite band with a tiny, round piece of uncoloured glass set into it. “I can use my corruption whether or not I’m a full knight, or if I have a knight’s life-force ring, or if I demonstrated.”

I shake my head. “Clowd… every squire’s life-force ring is for show. It has nothing to do with _you_ in particular. And yeah, your life-force is different. But you’re _not_ a god. And I’m going to teach you how to use it properly.”

“How?” he demands. “You don’t know any more about it than I do!”

“But we can _learn_.” I glance back at where the stables wait for us. “There’s more to being a Thundrian than having the look and summoning a bird or a thunderstorm or something. You know that.”

“Easy for you to say,” Clowd snorts. He starts to walk past me toward the stables and I stop him.

“No. It’s not.” All of the most embarrassing memories of my first years as a squire come rushing up to me. “When I got to court, I didn’t know how to mount a horse. I wasn’t strong enough to draw a bow, I couldn’t speak a word of Old Thundrian,”— _And more or less, still can’t,_ I think—“and I knew _nothing_ about court customs. The first patrol I was on, I asked Sir Cawle why the kingdoms aren’t all united and he nearly threw me into the Rivien sea. I didn’t win a spar until I was fifteen because Sir Cawle told me I couldn’t use my life-force, that I had to learn to fight with my sword and _also_ , he insisted on matching me with _Samn_ who’s been holding a sword since she learned to walk.”

Clowd is silent in the face of my tirade.

“I hardly knew how to write, I didn’t know anything of our history and culture, and by the Starlaxi, there were a few people who didn’t want me to ever forget that I was an _outsider_ ,” I finish, then take a deep breath, trying to banish the tremble from my voice. “What I’m trying to say is that you have to remember you don’t have _nothing_. You grew up in Thundria. You’re more a Thundrian than I in many respects.”

He looks doubtful, but I continue.

“I don’t know exactly what it’s like to be you. I don’t think _anyone_ ever will. But we have shared experiences. And if I’m a Thundrian, then so are you.” I search his face, trying to see if I’ve had any effect on him whatsoever. He just blinks. “Alright. Let’s go get your horse and we’ll go tour some of our territory.”

He doesn’t protest anymore and I watch him swing open the wooden half-door, its hinges creaking from disuse. The wood is unmarked; I suppose I’ll use the Blessing imbued in the stables to change it to his mark tonight at the same time as I forge his sword. My heart swells with love and fear for him. _How is he going to manage? The court doesn’t know about his corruption-control and they hate him even now._ I understand the queen’s logic in making me his mentor, but it hammers home a feeling that I’m his only real tie to Thundria. That without me, she would be forced to throw him out, and it’s only because I can _deal with him_ , that he’s allowed to stay.

I press the thoughts back as Clowd leads a snow-white mare out of the stall. _I wonder if Lady Faise summoned a white horse specifically for him… Can summoners control what an animal looks like?_ I didn’t pay much attention to Sir Cawle’s explanations of them given that he hardly seemed interested in it himself. _An alchemist and an elementalist. I guess that leaves an obvious gap in my education._

As Clowd disappears into the stall to retrieve his new horse’s equipment, I give him one last look, then hurry around the other side of the castle to fetch Blitz. The autumn air is crisp on my cheeks and I stuff my hands into my pockets, absentmindedly running my thumb over the smooth glass of the heart I carry with me. I think back to the conversation with Samn from this morning. _It must be difficult for her in times like these._ I catch myself and snort at how _Samn_ is the one I have sympathy for in this situation. _I can’t imagine what it’s like to be Graie right now. And I guess that’s the problem; nobody knows what it is to be him and nobody knows how to help him. Except the queen._

She lost her husband and children, in a way. _A death is a tragedy but…_ I think of the queen again at the Gathering with Crukkedaro, her brother-by-Union. A decade ago when she learned of Oeak’s death. The way she snapped when I pressed her about Meistya and Stowen. _She lost her family and she was expected to carry on because no one knew. That had to be its own kind of tragedy._ I lead Blitz out of her stall, eyeing her over.

_She must be getting old._ A pang of sorrow pierces my heart. _I guess nothing’s permanent. She’s been a good horse._ I run my fingers through her rust-red mane, remembering again my first day as a squire, barely out of the manor, completely out of my depth. I look up at the gray sky and feel the strangest wave of nostalgia. _That feels like it was worlds away. And now I’ve got a nephew that I’m supposed to teach about the court. And figure out how to control his powers before the court revolts. And my best friend’s wife is dead and my practically-little sister blames herself..._ I return to the squire’s stables and find Clowd already on top of his horse.

“Alright, you ready?” He nods and I mount Blitz in a heartbeat, thinking of Samn laughing at me that midwinter day. “Then let’s get going.”

“Can we go to the outer trace-line?” he asks as I take the lead, starting at an easy pace and guiding Blitz toward the gap in the leaves.

“Why do you want to go there?” I answer, then nudge Blitz into the open air. We reappear on the forest floor and I pull her out of the way to give Clowd space to materialize as well.

“I want to see the manors and the Creeping Corruption.” He juts his chin out like he’s daring me to say that it’s a bad idea, but I don’t.

_Maybe we can find out if he really can remove the corruption…_ I think, then nod. “Yeah, alright. And if it doesn’t take too long, we can go visit Mom, too.”

A smile lights up his face and for a moment I think this whole mentorship thing might work out. “I’d like that.”

_I’m sure she’ll be proud,_ I think, but there’s still a tightness between my shoulders. _It’s been a while since she saw him…_ But I brush it off. _Either way, he’s her son and she’ll be happy to see him made a squire._ And I don’t have to tell her about the nasty things they call him or the whispers that follow him.

Clowd observes on everything as we go and my chest aches at the memory of Cindra, contrasted with her face at the ceremony. _I hope Clowd never faces_ that _kind of hardship._ Trying to shake off the thoughts that plague me, I point out landmarks.

“If we took _that_ path, we’d end up by a lake,” I remark.

“Do we ever fish, like Riviens?” Clowd asks. “Not like… with big nets in the sea, I know, but somehow?”

“You mean like villagers?” I think of their fishing rods and remember Warner, the odd villager man that Graie and I borrowed a boat from to rescue Sir Clah and Lady Feot’s children. “No. We have everything we need in the forest.”

“I want to learn to hunt!”

“We’ll get there,” I laugh. “Actually, look over there!”

He peers through the trees and as we continue, the oaks thin, revealing a vast field with a wooden structure in the distance. Two figures are atop it. _Liang must be doing archery practice with Sewif._

“That’s the archery range. We’ll go there tomorrow, I think,” I decide aloud. “I’ll show you how to shoot and then maybe we can try hunting in the forest over there.”

We continue toward the border and little by little, I start to calm down. As I help Clowd bring his horse around a fallen tree that lies across the path, I check the Trace again. Every trace that I’ve felt a thousand times rolls off me as easily as the smell of my own clothes, but one hits an odd chord in my mind. _That’s weird._ I pull on Blitz’s reins, slowly her, and call to Clowd, “Just stop for a second? I…”

I trail off, immersing myself in the fifth dimension. The gray sky turns murky green and the air seems to shimmer around me, strands of the season, the hare that ran across the path about half an hour ago, the badger warren nearby, the elm and alder trees that frame the path, and… the strange people who used this path hours ago, all winding through the world on my tongue and up my back.

“What’s going on?” Clowd asks. “Can we go?”  
_What is with the trace of those people?_ It’s familiar, I just… can’t quite place it. I never was much good at tracking. But as luck would have it, the trace seems to be strengthening in the direction we’re going. I glance at Clowd, apprehension tugging at my stomach, but force it back. _It might just be an outlander or two from a strange place._ “Yeah, just… stay alert, alright? I think some people passed through here recently.”

“Villagers?” Clowd asks.

“No, not villagers. Probably outlanders.” _Or mercs._ I hope the latter’s not the case, but if things start to get dicey, I’ll send Clowd back and distract them until I can get away too. _Then the queen will send a patrol._ I feel a little reassured now that I have something of a plan, but I can’t banish a feeling of foreboding that thickens every time I return to the Trace to feel the strange people’s mark. _There’s something that’s wrong about this. Are they mercs?_

“I think we’re almost at the border!” Clowd exclaims.

“Shh, keep your voice down,” I chide, anxiously checking the Trace again. “But you’re right, we’re going to…” I trail off as another trace adds itself to the ones I’ve been feeling all this way. My heart drops.

“Fiyr?” Clowd says.

Sharp, pointed, like hard liquor or garlic, covered in a sickly sweet smell of vanilla.

_Sir Cawle was here._

“Why don’t we go find your mom first and we’ll come along the border on our way back?” I suggest, fighting to keep my voice level so that Clowd doesn’t see how uneasy I am. _By then, Sir Cawle and whoever left these traces should be long gone._

Clowd blinks. “Alright.”

“C’mon, let’s go this way,” I suggest, wheeling Blitz around and moving back the way we came until I find the path that splits off the one we’re on that I take to visit Prin. “It’s quicker.”

He follows me, bemused by my sudden change, and I hurry us down the path, relieved as the other path fades out of sight. I check the Trace and let out a breath when nothing out of the ordinary presents itself.

We make the rest of the trip to Prin’s manor without incident and I gradually relax. _I’ll just report it to the queen and Clowd will be safe._ When the wall comes into view, I hop off Blitz and motion to Clowd to stay on his horse for a moment. With a running start, I jump, bracing my foot against the wall and throwing an arm over the top, then haul myself over. To my relief, Prin is sitting in the garden reading. Last time, I had to try to catch the attention of another god-toy so he could go find her and I almost got caught by one of the guards. A bad situation all around.

“Prin!” I call in a soft voice, hoping it doesn’t carry.

She looks up and spots me, then drops her book on the bench beside her and stands. I’m a little concerned that she’s not wearing much except her performance garb given the chilly air, but as she moves closer, I see sweat glistening on her brow. _Probably just finished a routine and came out to cool off._

“Hey, Rossy!” she answers. “Is Clowd with you?”

“Yeah, come up and talk to him.” I pat the rough stone next to me and without hesitating, she scans the garden for witnesses then runs at the wall and grabs the top before pulling herself up and swinging her legs over to the other side.

“Mom!” Clowd shouts when he sees her. I cringe a little at his volume but Prin is unbothered and pushes herself off the wall, landing lightly on the grass and running over to him. He dismounts his horse easily and she gives him a big hug. He’s almost as tall as her, I notice, which makes me a little worried because I’m only a little taller than my sister and I was kind of banking on having the advantage of height over Clowd for at least another couple years.

_He’s going to be six feet tall by the time he’s twelve,_ I worry. _I just hope he doesn’t grow much after that._ I picture King Crukkedaro. _He must be at least six and half feet tall and no one’s raised suspicions about_ him _being part-god, though. Surely Clowd will be fine. Unless someone says something._

“You’re a squire?” she asks, holding him at arms-length and admiring his new uniform.

“Yeah, I just had my ceremony,” he tells her, showing off his life-force ring and horse.

_Well, he’s certainly singing a different tune than he was a few hours ago,_ I think sardonically. _But I’m glad that he’s coming around to the idea of being a normal squire. Or maybe he’s just pretending for Prin’s sake._

As they chat, I walk over to the wall and peer along it, through the trees. I can’t see the end of the wall. _So where did Sir Cawle and those strange people go?_ I check the Trace, but if they’ve been here, it was so long ago that the trace is so diminished that I can’t detect it. I look back at Prin and Clowd and a thought strikes me. _Maybe Prin or someone else that works at the manor saw something._

“Prin, can I talk to you for a sec?” I ask, trying for a nonchalant tone.

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” Once she comes over, out of earshot of Clowd, I tell her what I found on the way here.

“There was a trace of some strange people passing through the forest near here.” I motion in the direction of the path. “And… Sir Cawle.”

Her eyes darken at his name. “Yes. I… I haven’t seen anyone wearing a Thundrian uniform like yours, but there’s been this group of men hanging around the manor…”

_But was it mercs or outlanders…?_ “Do you remember anything about them?”

She hesitates. “There was… a small, skinny man with a broken nose and a tall man with gray hair. There were two more men that gave me a weird feeling… one was short, but much bulkier than the other two.” She motions his shoulder width on her own body. “And he was wearing these shiny black gloves.”

_Blayke Fouhte._

“And the other?” I press.

“He had broad shoulders too, but he was taller than the man with the gloves. Short brown hair and… I remember his eyes, even though I only ever saw them in the distance. I don’t know how, but...” She shakes her head a little at the memory. “They were so dark.”

“You said you didn’t see anyone with a uniform? What were they wearing?” I pursue. _That last man fits Sir Cawle’s description exactly…_ Sudden fear climbs up my throat at the realization of how close a brush she had with him. _He wouldn’t recognize her, would he? And she could run back into the god’s manor. He wouldn’t follow her._ I can’t shake the paralyzing terror for a few moments, though. _What would I do if I lost her? What would_ Clowd _do?_

“No, I didn’t see any uniforms,” she confirms. “Most of them wore travelling clothes, hunting boots like yours and furs and cloaks.”

“And the dark-eyed man?”

“He was wearing a long brown cloak. Different from the others. It covered him almost entirely,” Prin answers.

_Travelling cloak._ I remember my visit as a squire to the Lunar Crystal. “That was Sir Cawle, I think,” I admit.

Her eyes widen.

“He’s very dangerous, but I’m sure he has no reason to target you, so just… don’t get close to them,” I urge her. “But if you do see them… could you write down the dates, maybe? And their descriptions too if you catch any other details.”

Prin nods. “Why? Do you think they’re going to do something…?”

I pause. _I think Sir Cawle might be recruiting them to attack the castle. But I don’t want her to worry._ I glance over at Clowd who has busied himself with his horse. “I don’t know. Can’t be too safe when it comes to Sir Cawle.”

She gives me a nod but by the gleam in her eye I think she knows there’s more to the story. “Feels like I’m in one of my books,” she tries to joke, and I snort, grateful for the attempt at levity.

_She’ll be fine. She’s smart and I’ve told her enough about Sir Cawle that she knows to stay out of his way,_ I tell myself.

“We should head back,” I call to Clowd.

“Aw, already?” he asks.

“I want to get back before it starts getting dark. We can come visit again soon,” I promise both of them. “Let’s go; I’ll show you the trace-line.”

Clowd and I ride back along the wall until the gods’ manors branch further out into the unexplored territory and we stick by the border path. I keep checking the Trace, certain every time that I’m going to sense Sir Cawle nearby and he’s going to jump out and attack us, but nothing produces itself. Now that I know to look for it, I think I can feel Blayke Fouhte’s trace as well, sweet and pungent, only _just_ distinct from a villager’s. _What happened to him? Why did he fight for Braukkin?_

I’ve heard enough of Yllowei’s rants to know that Shodawa had at least a modicum of honour and pride before Braukkin took over. _And Sir Fouhte was pure Shodawes, courtborn and trained. Why would he follow a monster? Cowardice? Or evil?_ I think of Sir Cawle and my arguments with Samn from back when we were both squires. _Would I have followed Sir Cawle into the darkness if she hadn’t forced me to come to my senses?_ People are drawn to strength, I know that much. _But how afraid of being weak would you have to be to follow someone so monstrous?_

…

When Clowd and I return, the sun has begun to set. My first clue that my mission to tell the queen about Sir Cawle and the strange traces is going to be delayed is that there are three horses grazing outside on our pavilion. _What in the name of the Starlaxi?_

I check the Trace, baffled as to why these unfamiliar horses are meandering around on top of trees. But what I find in the fifth dimension only makes me more confused. Salt floods my mouth. _Riviens? What is going on?!_ There’s no sign of conflict, though, so I don’t burst through the doors of the castle with _Fireheart_ drawn. Inspecting the horses in the Trace more carefully reveals that they’re from a village. _Did Riviens ride here on villagers’ horses?_

“Come on, let’s take our horses back,” I tell Clowd, trying not to let on that there’s something amiss.

We return both of them to their stables and I meet him back in front of the castle. He’s eyeing the horses with a faint curiosity that lets me know that he realizes something’s going on, but doesn’t ask. In the time it took me to return Blitz to her stable and come back, I’ve jumped to a hundred conclusions as to why Riviens are here.

_To attack Graie for killing Sila._

 _To attack_ Cindra _for killing Sila._

_To demand that the queen yield territory as recompense for her death._

But no matter what my brain makes up, I already know the real reason. My fears are confirmed when I arrive in the throne room to find Lady Leaparra Fore arguing fiercely with the queen. The captain is flanked by Meistya Feot and Stowen Feur, neither of whom are getting as aggressive as she but looking equally stone-faced. _Why did it have to be them?_

“His children are half Rivien! They belong in their mother’s court,” Leaparra hisses.

As I glance around, I see that business is carrying on as normal, mostly, but much of the court seems to be loitering in doorways, trying to catch the conversation. The queen, for her part, is every inch the unyielding monarch, dressed in full Thundrian colours, a heavy maroon robe lined with embroidered lightning bolts hanging on her shoulders, with her crown set firmly atop her silver hair and planted on the throne, forcing the Riviens to look up at her on the dais.

“Half Rivien, as they are half Thundrian,” the queen replies, her tone measured. “Those children have _one_ parent, and he is Thundrian. To tear them from him now would be nothing short of callous, on both sides.”

“They are the kin of the king of Rivier!” Leaparra retorts. “We have ladies to care for them and every possible comfort they could need to grow up perfectly healthy.”

“But not their father,” Queen Bluelianna replies and I catch sight of Samn standing in the doorway of the stairs up to the knight’s wing, a wry smirk twisting her lips.

“What’s going on?” Clowd asks me and it’s then that I realize we’re just standing by the main doors of the castle. A couple gazes flit our way and I shuffle Clowd off to the side, embarrassed.

“It’s the queen’s business,” I answer quickly. “Why don’t you go and move your stuff from the nursery to your new nook in the squire’s wing? Faern’ll help, I’m sure.”

Clowd is unimpressed by my attempt to get rid of him, but nonetheless walks off to the nursery, ignoring the ladies of the court clustered by its entrance who are all eavesdropping on the queen’s conversation.

“The king expects an answer,” Lady Fore warns.

The queen doesn’t flinch. “Doubtlessly. But this issue will not come to an easy answer that will suit everyone. There are hearts and lives on the line.”

Leaparra is unaffected by this appeal, merely angling her head and waiting.

“He can expect my answer at the next Gathering; two months, the winter solstice,” Queen Bluelianna tells her.

She seems unsatisfied, but the captain of the guard bows anyway and then turns on her heel, motioning for Lady Feot and Sir Feur to follow. I can’t help staring at the queen, trying to detect a hint of longing, pain, anything on her face as she watches her children leave. But her face, etched with a lifetime of lines and coloured a paler brown from the autumn sun, doesn’t shift. Somehow, that only pierces my heart deeper. _She’s spent decades learning to cover her hurt._

As soon as the oak doors have swung shut behind the Riviens and before the trace has had a chance to weaken, the court swarms the throne room, everyone ready to offer their opinion. As I watch each face as they begin debates, arguments soft and loud, and try to catch the queen’s attention, I wonder if Riviens are the same way. _Do they shout at the king? Are they doing it now? Or are they letting him grieve…?_ The grieving that the queen would never have been allowed, not truly.

I watch the queen’s face as just about every person in the court lines up to tell her what they think. I’m not even trying to listen in, but even from here I know what they’re saying. _They don’t want a war. With Shodawa and Wynnd teaming up to try to kill Braukkin and anyone who gets in their way, we can’t afford to lose Rivier as an ally._ But what is that going to do to Graie?

As I think that, I spot him. He’s standing where Samn was only minutes ago, his head only just visible on the stairs over the crowd. And as I hear more and more members of the court advocate for sending away his son and daughter to protect Thundria, his face is swamped with more panic and fear, his mouth pressing closed and his brows drawing together. His eyes darken with grief and I see his mouth open for one gasping breath, until finally, he turns and flees.


	20. Chapter 19 - Cindra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD HERE WE GO THIS IS THE GOOD SHIT FOLKS

Chapter 19 - Cindra

As the trees shed their leaves and the air grows colder, I retreat further inside myself. It’s better that way. I shouted at Brakken last week when he tried to ask me how I was feeling. The wounded look he gave me only made things worse. The rest of the court is too preoccupied with Graie’s children and the queen’s decision relating to them to pay me any mind, anyways.

The only person who seems to understand is Lady Fennen. She doesn’t push me, nor does she tiptoe around me. She’s just there, waiting for me to be ready to train, or to talk, or to go outside, or whatever. Even though I know she doesn’t mean it to be that way, I feel a bit pressured some days. _What if I’m never ready?_ Every morning I wake up and I’m still tired. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to move. I can’t sleep, I just lie in my bed and think about Silaverre Strime. Sometimes I can hear the babies crying and I wonder whether if she was there, they wouldn’t cry.

I only really leave the healer’s wing when Lady Flourer comes to have Lady Fennen check her over. When I think about her giving birth, it feels like ice water is flowing through my body, locking my muscles in place and making my mind race to all the ways her birth could go wrong.

The first time I leave the castle is about a week or two after Lady Strime’s death. It’s a cool autumn morning, a reminder that the autumn equinox is days away. Lady Fennen was going to take me to the Lunar Temple to bring me into the kingdoms’ healers’ circle as her true novitiate. But there will be no initiation if I can’t leave the castle, so I’m forcing myself to go out this morning. I’m going with Fiyr and Clowd to show Clowd some first aid and how to respond during a battle, before a healer can help. I pick up the bag of supplies that Lady Fennen helped me prepare yesterday.

As I pause in the healer’s wing’s entrance, surveying the throne room, I see Sir Cawle sending out a patrol. They leave, and I realize that the castle is now almost completely empty. I see Sarola and her brothers in the nursery with the ladies of the court, the elders are all in their quarters, and Lady Fennen in with Braukkin back behind me in the healer’s wing, but the knights that should be milling around, getting breakfast and chatting, are all gone. _Did Sir Cawle really send out that many patrols?_

I check the Trace and after a moment of concentration, realize that yes, all of their familiar traces have the slight faintness that indicates they’ve left the area. _And when Fiyr, Cloud, and I leave… is Sir Cawle going to be alone with everyone else?_ Fear trickles down my spine. _Remember what Fiyr said. He’s trying to kill someone who can resurrect herself._ I think of the queen—her iron posture, her acute skill with her ice elementalism, _Winter’s Wrath_ in its sheath at her side, and I exhale. _She can take care of herself. Sir Cawle’s not going to try anything if he’s alone and only has a two hour window. The ladies of the court can all fight, for that matter. The queen isn’t defenseless._

Trying to take comfort in that, I cast my eyes over the throne room to find Fiyr and Clowd once more, and spot Fiyr leaving the dining hall. _They must have just had breakfast._ My own stomach turns a little at the thought of eating. _I’ll have something later._

I cross the throne room, uncomfortably aware of how my steps and my cane echo in the deserted room. The only movement is the play of the light from the braziers across the Thundrian standards that lie against the cold gray bricks. I shiver, not from the cold, and then enter the kitchen.

Clowd is rinsing his plate and Fiyr stands by the kitchen’s exit. When I come in, his gaze flicks to me and he uncrosses his arms as if he’s standing at attention. A greeting gets stuck in my throat and I look away. I don’t like the way he acts, like I’m about to shatter into a million pieces, or yell at him, or start sobbing.

Even if that’s how I feel, sometimes.

“Hey Cindra!” Clowd says, unfazed.

Fiyr jumps a little, but I’m grateful for Clowd’s careless attitude. If he’s acting normal, then maybe I can too. “Hi Clowd. Ready to learn some first aid?” My voice is crackly, but he at least pretends not to notice.

“Yeah! Let’s go!” He dashes out the door that Fiyr’s standing next to. Fiyr opens his mouth but no sound comes out, and that’s when I spot the over-clothes in his arms. Fiyr’s already wearing his, so they must be for Clowd.

“Hang on, put your over-clothes on!” Fiyr exclaims, then shooting me an apologetic look, races out after him. For a moment, I don’t even notice, and then I realize I’m smiling. For the first time since Silaverre.

I let out a breath and follow them out. The sky is mostly gray, only a few weak rays of sun filtering through, but it’s a welcome change from the torchlight of the castle. I stay with Clowd by the squire’s stables as Fiyr goes to fetch Blitz, and listen as Clowd tells me everything that he’s done as a squire.

“And I hit the target!” he exclaims.

“Well done.”

“And I named my sword Papercut,” he continues, pulling out the simple-steel sword to show me the tiny, engraved word. “I’ve thought of a hundred better names since then and I know I should’ve waited until I was sure but I’m going to be a knight soon enough anyway and then it’ll be _Cloudsomething_ so does it really matter much?”

It makes me think of Murderstick, still tucked under my bed and gathering dust and rust in its sheath. _I guess it’ll never get another name. I’ll have my healer’s staff one day and Murderstick will just live under my bed until the end of time._ Maybe I’ll ask Lady Fennen what she did with her sword when she became a novitiate.

“Where are we going?” Fiyr’s reappeared atop Blitz and he rides over to us. Clowd’s still dawdling with his horse.

“Anywhere, really. Somewhere with a tree that we can lean against for demonstrations and somewhere a battle could theoretically take place,” I suggest, swinging open Ashes’s stall as well to lead her out.

She whickers and stamps on the leaves once she’s free of her stall and I wonder if she’s been feeling cooped up. I run my fingers through her mane absentmindedly, then mount her and tuck my cane into its strap.

“Okay, how about in the field across from the archery range?” Fiyr suggests.

“Sounds good,” I answer. I don’t look directly at him, knowing that if I see pity or worry I’m just going to get angry, and fix my gaze on the horizon instead. There are dark clouds in the north, but the wind is blowing at our backs, so hopefully it won’t rain on us while we’re out. “Let’s go.”

…

As we ride to the spot, I start to notice that Fiyr might not be on edge because of me; I think he’s just on edge in general. And I think I know why. I can’t imagine he didn’t notice how Sir Cawle left the court without a knight to defend it.

More than that, though, I catch him checking the Trace at least a dozen times, far more than anyone needs to normally. As if he’s expecting something. _What’s gotten into him?_ Clowd fills the silence with conversation that doesn’t require much participation from either of us. He seems content to go on about everything he’s heard and read and seen since he became a squire. I toss in the occasional _mhmm_ and Fiyr seems completely preoccupied.

We reach the field eventually and dismount. Fiyr takes care of tying the horses’ leads to low-hanging branches and I take out my bag, sorting through what I’m going to show Clowd. He’s eager to learn, and picks things up quickly as I go through explaining basic terminology, then the core concepts of healing, and as I’m beginning to show him how to make a sling using a length of fabric, I relax a little. I can do this. Tie a sling, check bloodflow, pour water over gauze… It’s familiar. I feel steadier.

“Cindra,” Fiyr suddenly says. I quickly finish my knot on Clowd’s wrist splint and turn to him.

“What?”

“We need to go,” he says, then his eyes widen and he grabs us both by the shoulders and hurries us into the bushes, away from the path where we stopped.

“What’s—” Clowd begins, but Fiyr hushes him.

I’m frozen, staring at where all my supplies are strewn in the flattened grass and where Ashes, Blitz, and Clowd’s horse shuffle around peacefully. _Why are we hiding?_ Adrenaline pumps in my veins, but I’m still motionless, huddling with Fiyr and Clowd in the bushes.

A moment later, I hear it.

The thunder of hooves, which begins as a distant roar, then loudens until I see them. They blow past the gap in the leaves where we entered the field, horsemen, too many to count, in a blur of brown and gray and black. I watch, stunned, as they go, until I finally recover enough sense to check the Trace. _Mercenaries._ Undeniable.

But more than that, I think… I feel other traces mixed in. _Shodawa?_ Thundria _?!_ And then I see him. He’s almost moving too fast, but the dark red of his uniform sticks out against a sea of neutral colours; unmistakable. _Sir Cawle._

And then they’re gone.

Fiyr takes charge immediately. “Those mercenaries were headed for the castle and there’s no one there except the queen, the elders, and the ladies with their children. Clowd, I need you to ride west—that’s where Sir Strommer’s patrol went.”

Clowd’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he takes in the order. “Which way?”

Fiyr points, and then helps Clowd up and gives him a nudge toward his horse. “There should be a map of the territory in your saddlebag from yesterday, right? They’re on a supply run to Aurore. Just ask whatever villager you find which way they went, and tell Sir Strommer that the castle’s under attack. Go with them to the castle and then hide with the children. You don’t know how to fight yet and you _have_ to stay safe, understand?”

And before I can even react, Clowd mounts his horse and takes off westward, his hand still half-covered by the wrist splint, fumbling in his saddlebag to find the map. In an instant, the trees swallow up the white flash of his horse and he’s gone. Fiyr turns to me, all trace of his nervous demeanor having evaporated, and been replaced with a singular focus.

“We need to get back to the castle right now. Once we’re there, I’ll defend the queen and you go get your sword. You and Yllowei can help fight until the patrols get back.”

_I guess Murderstick will see a bit of action after all,_ is all I can think as I hurriedly gather up the bag of supplies and swing myself back onto Ashes. Fiyr has already spurred Blitz into a gallop, and I follow suit.

We blaze down the path, the trace of the mercenaries all around us. I worry for a moment that we’ll catch them, but even though we’re only two, they’ve got too much of a lead on us for us to be able to close the gap in the frenzied ride back to the castle. I can hardly catch my breath as I swerve along the curves and dips in the path. Ashes jumps a fallen tree, and when we hit the ground again my teeth rattle. My hands feel cold. They felt cold when I was riding to Sun Rocks that night. Who else will we lose?

I can’t even guess how long it’s been when the base of the enormous trees come into sight. There’s still no sign of the mercenaries or Sir Cawle, but Fiyr doesn’t waste a moment and rides into the patch of grass. A heartbeat later, he vanishes. I follow him, my heart pounding in my throat.

We reappear on the leaves and gallop across the stone terrace toward the castle doors. Fiyr swings himself off of Blitz before she’s even stopped and dashes through the doors, his life-force brimming to the surface and _Fireheart_ unsheathed. I pull Ashes to a halt and clamber off her, pulling my cane free as I go, then hobble after him.

When I enter the throne room, I’m all-too-aware that I’m a walking target. The ladies of the court are all out, fighting, but the queen is nowhere to be found. I spot Briatte, fighting alongside our mother, who has _Frostfur_ out and flashing, and I wonder if at least one patrol came back. I don’t have much time to think, though; I have to get to the healer’s wing and grab Murderstick so I can defend myself.

I dodge out of the way as a man I’ve never seen, wielding a club with spikes bursting out of it, runs at Lady Faise. Before he can get there, he’s thrown to the ground by an enormous stag who charges in front of the lady of the court. The stag swings his antlers like a falling tree and the man shouts in pain as he’s swept across the floor by the blow. I backpedal, trying to keep my balance, then scoot around them to the entrance of the healer’s wing.

_Where’s Lady Fennen?_ The healer’s wing is deserted and I run through the lines of cots, narrowly avoiding collapsing my leg by stepping at the wrong angle. _I need my sword!_ As I dart behind the desk to our private quarters, I see signs of a struggle. Lady Fennen’s bed is in disarray and books are flung open, papers littering the floor. A brazier’s been knocked over, the still-hot cinders spilling dangerously close to meticulous lists and sketches.

I kneel beside my bed and stretch my hand underneath, fumbling for the steel of my sword. All my fingers feel is dust.

“Looking for this?” a low, gravelly voice asks, followed by a chuckle.

I whip around, scrambling back, but my spine hits my bed. _Nowhere to run._

Braukkin stands by Lady Fennen’s bed, Murderstick gripped in his hand. His lips are curved into a sickening grin despite the inflamed red skin and crusted blood that covers where his eyes should be. It bulges in an imitation of eyes, like a bug, staring at me.

“What did you do to Lady Fennen?” I demand, but my voice is trembling.

His scarred face doesn’t change, his smile fixed in place. “She ran off and left me all alone. Unprotected. And what a _shock_ it was when the mercenaries attacked.”

_He knew._ I’m certain of it. _That’s what he was talking to Sir Cawle about!_ They were planning the attack, and Sir Cawle thought I heard, so he tried to get me killed and make it look like an accident… _I didn’t tell anyone but Fiyr. I didn’t tell the queen. What have I done?_

“She should have posted a guard, though,” he continues. “I don’t need to see to feel your blood, your _fear_ , and your little heart. So fragile. She won’t be back in time to save you.”

_She taught me to fight._ I hold onto that, even as fear chills me to my bones. _Am I going to die?_

“She’ll just have to find your body.”

A memory sweeps over me.

_I was looking at an introductory textbook for healers, before I was a novitiate. Flipping through the pages on fighting, looking at the little diagrams of a woman in an apron blocking the sword of a knight. It said to explain that you were a healer, and then to run away._

_“That’s all bullshit,” Lady Fennen informed me from her seat at her desk._

_“What?” I asked, snapping the book shut guiltily like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have._ I just wanted to remember my days of being a squire.

_“What the textbook says, about fighting.” She gestured to it. “No knight would attack a novitiate or a healer.”_

_“Then why do healers learn to fight?” I demanded._

_Lady Fennen shook her head. “Because we don’t only fight other knights. A mercenary, an orc, an elf, they do not care whether you are healer or knight or child. They’ll slit your throat all the same.”_

_I looked back down at the book. “Then I guess this is all useless. Why would you explain to an elf that you’re a healer?”_

_She stood, then, and gave me a half-smile. “I was a knight once, Cindra, you know this. I get the sense that the virtuous Thundrians, you do not have the same squire lessons, exactly, but I believe you should be taught something I learned at Shodawa’s court.”_

_My curiosity made me stand as well and I followed her out to behind the castle. We stood together in the summer sunlight._

_“If you are forced into fighting, then it will not be with a knight,” she began. “It will be a mercenary or some sort of beast. I can teach you the weaknesses of many different creatures, but a mercenary is a different breed. You might be forced into a battle of life and death.”_

_I was breathless, thinking of the elders’ stories of great valour, of sword fights where an inch, or a heartbeat, or a misstep meant death, and of great knights that fought fair when their opponents wouldn’t do the same._

_“Aim for the balls,” Lady Fennen advised._

_“What?!”_

_“Aim for the balls, the solar plexus,” she placed her hand beneath her breasts and between her bottom ribs to demonstrate, “the nose, the eyes, the jaw, and the throat.”_

_I was at a loss. Being told to punch a mercenary in the balls wasn’t what I expected to hear when she told me she was going to teach me Shodawa’s battle secrets._ But I guess they fight dirty.

_“You must make yourself too much trouble to bother with. One good, strong, true strike to their nose or the middle of their chest will make them think twice. If you break their nose, they will start choking on their own blood and they will not be able to fight. If you hit them hard enough in the chest, you crush their diaphragm and they won’t be able to breathe. And then they cannot fight. Grab their face with both hands and stab their eyes with your thumbs.”_

_I was a little surprised at how gorey her tactics were, and I said so. “But… healers aren’t supposed to hurt. It’s in the code”_

_“You’re not a healer,” Lady Fennen said. “And as far as you need to know, the most important rule of the code is to keep yourself alive.”_

Alive.

I need to keep myself alive.

And as pressure builds in my chest and my head pounds, black spots swimming in my vision, all I can think is _Aim for the balls._ So when my life-force rises like a storm, its ashy taste burning through my mouth, smoke smothering the air in my lungs, in its final stand before my heart gives out, I reach out with my mind and grab the glittering coals strewn across the floor and shoot them, in one focused stream, directly toward the tyrant king of Shodawa’s testicles.

My vision swings from side to side, black at each edge, and I feel myself falling to the ground, but I’m conscious enough to hear him scream. That’s what it is. Not a yell or a shout or a grunt—he wails as he burns. A satisfaction I’d forgotten, a satisfaction of landing a strike or blocking a blow, rises in me to combat the swimminess of my vision. But even so, I stay on the ground, breathing hard and waiting for my vision to clear.

When I look up, Braukkin is gone, but Lady Fennen is back. I only see her feet, at first, but then she bends down to help me sit up. I sag with relief at the sight of her weathered face— _She’ll know what to do. She can help me._

“I broke the code,” I gasp, feeling my heart pound as it readjusts to not being squeezed to death. “I—I burned Braukkin.”

A half-smile hooks the edge of her mouth. “Good. You kept yourself alive.”

I smile faintly, a laugh getting caught in my throat. _I did. He was going to kill me and I saved myself with my life-force._ “He’s got my sword.”

“I know,” she answers. “I tied him up and went to help the children when I heard the noises of the fight, but one of the mercenaries must have untied him. I don’t know how they knew that… it doesn’t matter. We’ll figure everything out after the battle. You need to go hide in the queen’s chambers.”

“I can fight!” I insist.

“You almost died.” A dark fire flares in her hazel eyes and that’s when I know I’m not going to be able to argue. “I will not let it happen a second time. Go, now. I don’t want to worry.”

I nod, and she helps me to my feet. When I’m upright, I have to agree that Lady Fennen’s right. I’m about to topple over; it’s only with the help of my cane that I stay on my feet. I’m lightheaded for a moment, then I begin to hobble toward the entrance of the healer’s wing. The fight rages on in the throne room, but when I make it to the doorway I see Sir Strommer burst through the doors.

Relief swamps me and I start sliding along the wall, trying to make my way to the queen’s chambers, behind the throne, without being seen. As I’m going, I spot Sir Cawle.

Most of the mercenaries have turned to face the reinforcements, but Sir Cawle is fighting one of them by the dais. _Fighting_ is a stretch, though. They cross swords, but there’s no power behind their blows, and I don’t need to shift to the fifth dimension to know that Sir Cawle isn’t using his life-force to dull his opponent’s blade. As I watch, still shuffling toward the queen’s chambers, Sir Cawle throws off his blade and leaps up on top of the dais, then runs for the door behind the throne.

_The queen! No!_ Forgetting what Lady Fennen told me and my brush with death from only minutes ago, I grab my cane in both hands and start running toward the private chambers. _I have to help her!_


	21. Chapter 20 - Cindra

Chapter 20 - Cindra

When I burst through the door behind the throne, I’m scared that I’m going to be too late.

The first thing I see is the queen cowering against the back wall, next to the door that leads her to her bedroom. A dark green uniform— _Samn_ —catches my eye, and I see her standing in front of the desk, blocking the queen’s body.

And just in front of me, in his bloody red uniform, Sir Cawle stands, _Tigerclaw_ drawn, advancing on the queen.

I freeze in the doorway, unable to do much more than stare at the three of them, Sir Cawle with his back to me, Samn staring him down with murder in her eyes, and the queen, her sword still sheathed, just staring, face slack like she doesn’t understand what she’s seeing.

Samn’s eyes flit past Sir Cawle to meet mine and confusion crosses her face, then she shakes her head as if to say _Get out of here!_ Before I can backpedal out the door, Sir Cawle spins around to see me. I’m confronted with just how close he is to me as he looms over me, breath hot and eyes ablaze.

“I should have killed you while I had the chance,” he spits.

I recoil, then catch sight of Samn over his shoulder. She’s winding up to stab him. As though he could sense the impending strike, Sir Cawle dodges to the left and Samn’s blade meets air. I have to stumble back to avoid it too. _I have to get out of here!_

Samn growls and pulls back _Sandstorm_ to swing again, and before I know what’s happening, an arm grabs my waist and another crosses my chest, a hairy forearm hooking under my chin. Sir Cawle yanks me backward, pressing me to his chest like a body shield.

I shriek with fear, trying to wrestle free of him, but his grip is like iron. My cane flies from my hands and clatters to the floor. I flail, trying to grab his arms and wrest them off of me, but he has them pinned to my sides. _Tigerclaw_ dangles in his grip, half-forgotten.

A memory that I’d buried suddenly rises, choking me with fear I’d forgotten. _I was in the nursery. How did he get in? Who is that? Is he—and then he grabbed me, covered my mouth so I couldn’t scream. There was something in his hand, something that smelled sharp and strange. I dried up my mouth, made my nose sting, and then I was falling. I woke up in what I’d later find out was the Shodawes castle._

“I take it back. I’m glad you’re alive, you may prove useful yet,” he growls, and I can feel the vibration of his voice in my back. Panic swarms up me and I can hardly see, hardly think, overcome with the certain dread that I’m about to die. _I’ve been caught again. Always a pawn, a hostage, a bargaining chip, a threat._

The arm around my waist releases me as he lifts _Tigerclaw_ and lays it across his other arm, dangerously close to my throat. I stare at the silver blade, swallowing hard and fighting a scream. _He’s going to kill me—he’s going to cut my throat and throw me to the floor—I’m going to be dead—I never told Fiyr—I’ll never be a healer—I won’t grow old—I don’t want to die!_

_I have to save myself this time!_ I reach up with my now-free arms to try to yank off his arm around my chest, but he shifts it down, wrapping my shoulders in an immovable grip until I can only move my forearms and hands. _Trapped. Trapped again._

Samn takes a step forward. “Let her go, Tigre.”

I’m jerked as Sir Cawle steps back. “If you take another step, I’ll cut her throat.”

“Sir Cawle…” the queen whispers, but whatever she was going to say dies in her throat before it makes it out.

I press back a whimper. Samn’s eyes widen and I see the calculations move through her mind. _What’s his plan? He wants to kill the queen. But Samn won’t let him. But he’s going to kill me, oh blessed Starlaxi he’s going to kill me._ A dry sob sticks in my throat and I swallow it back. _Don’t panic! Think!_

I twist my head as best I can, locked in his grip like this, scanning the room for anything that could help. My life-force is surging inside me, whipped into a frenzy by the adrenaline and terror spiking through my veins. _If I try to attack him, he’ll just kill me. I need to get out of his grip first._ What did Fiyr say about breaking grips? Didn’t he teach me this? Basic defense. My mind is spinning out of control, no memory lasting long enough for me to search it for answers.

“Stay calm,” I manage to choke to Samn, who has become completely stiff; the only part of her that moves is her eyes as they dart from side to side, like the lashing of a cat’s tail. _Trapped. Again._

“I’m going to walk out of here, now,” Sir Cawle says, his voice softening. “If you try anything, she’ll be dead within the second.”

Samn doesn’t move.

“Good.” Sir Cawle steps back, and I stumble along with him, my legs near-useless.

_My legs. My_ leg _._ I glance at the brazier next to the queen’s desk. Then I look down at the blade that bobs so close to my throat. _If I try to break away, I’ll run right into it. But he’s_ expecting _me to lurch forward, that’s why it’s there._

And so as Sir Cawle takes his next step out of the doorway of the queen’s room, still staring down Samn and the queen, I bring my foot up, thanking the Starlaxi for my injury. I focus on the brazier, the cinders calling out to my life-force, offering their service.

And stamp.

My knee buckles and I drop straight down, pulling my shoulders in as tightly as I can to make myself small, and plunge out of Sir Cawle’s arms. He scrambles to grab me, and I answer the cinders. _Now!_ I only need one. The hottest coal, no bigger than an acorn. It’s perfect.

It flies like an arrow, straight and true, right to its target.

And Sir Cawle roars in pain as I plunge the cinder into his eye.

As if it’s a part of me, I can feel what it feels as the cold jelly of his eye sizzles, the temperature change extinguishing the cinder. _Your job isn’t done yet._ From my position on the floor, I reach my hand out and force it to burn again, brighter and hotter. My life-force ring flashes. As Sir Cawle claws at his face, reeling backward, I scramble forward, pushing myself to my feet, and limp back into the queen’s chamber, desperate to get behind Samn. _She has a sword._

I hardly make it behind the desk, though, before Samn flings herself out of the room, the rage that was strangled inside her when Sir Cawle had me hostage finally freed. She yells as she brings _Sandstorm_ down on Sir Cawle, still grabbing his face and crying out.

The first strike sends him staggering back.

The second draws blood.

I watch, transfixed, and I’m almost surprised to see him bleed. This man, this shadowy threat who had never quite seemed real, bleeds red. Samn is still shouting, a ragged battle cry spilling from her as her sword moves like an extension of her arm. I’m almost taken aback, then I remember her history. _Sir Tayle._ Her rage for father, bottled up for years and years, finally released.

Sir Cawle puts up _Tigerclaw_ , trying to fend off her blows, but he’s still groaning, low and animalistic, at the pain of losing his eye. His strikes have the same strength that I’ve seen from him in battle, but they’re just ever-so-slightly sloppier—an uncoordinated blow here, a mistimed block there. It doesn’t take long before Samn knocks him down, and he falls backward, landing hard on his arm.

He growls, but he knows he’s beaten. I’m a little chilled by the darkness in his eyes as he stares up at Samn. _He’d kill her in an instant if he could._ But he’s missed his chance. She has her sword levelled at his throat and there’s no way for him to slip away like I did, now. Battles rage all around them, but the mercenaries are occupied with saving their own skins rather than attempting to save Sir Cawle. It looks like Clowd found more patrols than just Sir Strommer’s—the throne room is flooded with knights.

_Wait, are those…?_ Sure enough, in silver and blue, their sashes and vests flaring as they move in and out of the combat, a dozen Rivien knights take on the mercenaries, sending them fleeing out the doors. I don’t much care who they are, though, if they’re going to help us.

I heave a breath, feeling my muscles that were locked up in panic and fear only minutes ago, finally relax a little. I feel stiff and strained, and I wasn’t even fighting. Trusting Samn to keep Sir Cawle down, I turn to look at the queen.

“Your Majesty, are you—” I freeze when I see her.

She’s dropped to the floor, her back against her wall and her skirts pooled around her. She stares straight ahead, eyes sightless.

“Are you alright?!” I exclaim, hurrying over to help her up.

She accepts my arm, but her eyes don’t focus properly on mine. She shakes her head, mouth opening and closing, until she finally says. “He betrayed me. I… I failed. I couldn’t save him, I couldn’t protect Thundria—”

I shake my head. “No, my queen. He betrayed us all. And he chose his path. This was not your doing.”

“I told her I’d save him,” the queen whispers to herself.

Uneasiness weaves through me at her state of despair. This has shaken her hard, I know that much. I can’t help thinking of what Lady Fennen’s told me about the fragility of the inside of people. _The world’s been pulled out from under her. She’s reeling._ She needs time to recover. _But she_ will _recover, won’t she?_

“The battle’s almost over. Rivier came to help,” I tell her, retrieving my cane and then gently guiding her out of her chambers. “The mercenaries are fleeing but you’re going to need to deal with Sir Cawle.”

She closes her eyes. “Are my children here?”

I falter at her words. _She’s speaking so openly about them!_ Darting a glance around to make sure no one is within earshot, I answer, “Yes. They’re both helping Thundria.”

The queen lets out a breath. “Then we’ll be alright.”

_Is the strength of Thundrian knights not enough to reassure her?_ I wonder, then immediately come upon the answer. _Not after Sir Cawle._ I wouldn’t trust our court either, in her place. Then again… _We tried to warn her!_

I watch the last of the battle from the doorway of the queen’s private quarters, supporting the queen, and wait until the final mercenaries are driven out the doors by Riviens and Thundrians fighting side by side. I’m relieved at the sight. _Sir Cawle has failed and his treachery is exposed._ Despite the queen’s state, I can’t help feeling that an immense weight has lifted off my shoulders. _There is no way she can deny it now; Thundria can drive him out and we’ll be safe in our own territory again._

Cheers fill the throne room as the last mercenary flees, blood trailing behind him from a wound in his leg. I cast my eyes over them all, taking in Brindellia Faise with her hand on the back of her summoned stag, who stands shoulder to shoulder with Leaparra. Next to her, two summoned leopards lower their heads, panting, their maws stained red. I see Frostialla Fuor, with _Frostfur_ dripping blood at her side and Sir Strommer, breathing hard and bloody but alive with the energy of the battle. Snow is piled around him, beginning to melt from the heat of the torches and his concentration no longer being focused on it. Meistya and Stowen lean on each other for support. Stowen’s undershirt is soaked by some unseen wound. Briatte’s summoned dog gives a short yip, then lays down and fades into the stone.

I breathe out. _It’s over. It’s really over._ Then I remember. _Where’s Braukkin?_

“I—I have to go,” I stammer to the queen. “Healer’s wing. Lady Fennen. Braukkin.”

The queen stares straight ahead like she hasn’t heard me and I hurry off the dais and run as best I can into the healer’s wing. I’m terrified of what I’ll find there, my mind flashing through images of Lady Fennen being stabbed by Braukkin or worse, but none of it comes true when I skid to a stop in the spacious wing.

Lady Fennen stands by her desk, as if she’s been waiting for me. Next to her, bound by thick ropes to a chair, is Braukkin. At first, I think his mouth is bloodstained, but there’s no wound. I cross the wing toward them, made nervous by Braukkin’s presence, but realize quickly that he’s out cold.

“He can’t hurt anyone anymore,” Lady Fennen murmurs.

I stop in my tracks, reassessing his limp body. “Did you kill him?!”

She shakes her head, but there’s an odd grimness to her poise and expression that makes me wonder if that’s completely true.

I peer at him, taking in his dirty clothes, the brutal scarring that stretches over the bridge of his nose and eye sockets, the red that drips from his mouth. _It’s juice. Berry juice._ I check the Trace, a sudden certainty filling me as I connect the clues of the juice and Lady Fennen’s words. Sure enough, I feel the pulse of Braukkin’s life, see the light of his heart pumping blood in his chest, but…

_She took away his life-force._

Amortal berries. That’s what the juice is.

_He’s not dead, but he’s not going to survive, either._ “How long do you think he has?”

Lady Fennen’s jaw tightens. “He is strong in body, but his spirit has always… lacked. Nine months. More, perhaps… or less. I cannot say. But he will never hurt you, or anyone else, ever again.”

My heart twinges at the memory of the pressure in my chest when he tried to kill me. The crashing wave of fear, the realization that I was going to die… _Good._ The queen gave him a second chance, kept as a prisoner, and he fought to kill us again. _He’s proved that he’s too dangerous for us to try to keep as a prisoner._

“Go fetch as many bandages and rolls of gauze as you can carry,” Lady Fennen tells me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “We must treat the court. I know that during the attack, you…”

She trails off, eyeing me as if waiting for me to break down. I grit my teeth.

“He attacked me, but I’m fine now.” I press back the memory of Sir Cawle’s sword, so close to my throat, the all-too-familiar feeling of being trapped… “The court needs us, like you said.”

Lady Fennen dips her head and I think I see a gleam of respect in her eyes. “Yes.”

And with that, I turn on my heel and march over to the supply room. I let out a shaky breath once I’m away from Lady Fennen’s gaze. Without even really registering that I’m crying, I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. As I scan the shelves, I suddenly can’t remember why I’m in here.

I stare blankly at the walls of the storeroom, feeling numb. I can’t stop my mind as I relive the moments of being grabbed, being helpless, _trapped_. My breath comes quicker, my hands begin to sweat, but I’m rooted to the ground, just trying to breathe and remember where I am.

“Cindra?”

The voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. The word is foreign. _Who am I?_

“Cindra?”

_My name._ The world rushes back into focus around me and I stumble back, disoriented.

A hand is on my shoulder. I jerk away. _Not again!_

“Cindra, you’re alright.” It’s Lady Fennen’s voice. I freeze, then exhale.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she rasps. “I can help you. We need bandages and rolls of gauze.”

_Right._ I feel ashamed for forgetting such a simple instruction. _What’s wrong with me?_ “I… right. I’ll get them.”

I can feel Lady Fennen’s eyes following me as I reach into the back shelves, loading up my arms with the downy white gauze, the brown bandages. I feel grounded for a heartbeat. _She taught me how to apply these. People are hurt and I can help them._

“Come on,” Lady Fennen grunts, and then takes some from me to help me carry them back.

I follow her, trying to steady my breath. _The battle’s over. Sir Fiace is dead. Sir Cawle is going to be thrown out of the kingdom. I’m going to be okay._ Many members of the court have gathered by the entrance of the healer’s wing, clutching bleeding limbs or curling their arms protectively over wounded stomachs.

“ _Leur bataille est terminé et le nôtre commence,_ ” Lady Fennen murmurs, almost to herself. I glance at her, the familiar irritated and amused feeling that’s provoked in me by her speaking Old Shodawes washes over me.

“What does that mean?”  
“Their fight is finished, and so ours begins,” she answers. “Something my mentor used to say… Nevermind that. We will help them now.”

As I move through the court, checking people over and sending the worst injured to the cots, I note that a few Riviens are hovering by the entrance, looking unsure. They cover wounds as well, a cut brow here and a cradled wrist there.

I glance at Lady Fennen for her guidance, but she’s occupied with Fiyr, whose eye is swollen shut. Concern for him pierces my heart, but I turn my eyes away. _Lady Fennen can handle it._ Looking back at the Riviens, I realize I’m going to have to perform the triage, and that means figuring out whether or not we should treat them. _We’re not exactly running low on supplies. And they did get those wounds fighting our battle._

I clear my throat. “Sir Feur, Sir Peyelt, and uh…” I peer at the round-bellied man whose scraggly brown hair looks like it’s been slicked with blood. “You.”

“Sir Baley,” he tells me, his voice raspy.

“Right.” I wave them over. “You’re all worst injured, so we’re going to have to treat you first. Go sit on the cots closest to us.”

I see a few distrustful looks from Sir Styrp and Sir Teyl, but I ignore them. They have hardly a scratch between them.

“Does anyone think they’re well enough to wait for treatment until after everyone else?” I ask.

A few hands go up— _Mostly Riviens_ , I note—and I beckon them over to quickly check that their self-assessment is warranted. Sure enough, they seem mostly uninjured, save for one, a young man whose breathing rattles like wind through a dead bush.

“Are you a short-breath?” I ask him, pressing my ear to his chest to listen closer. He seems taken aback by my sudden closeness, but answers after a beat.

“Uh, I don’t think so.”

“Do you usually get out of breath after fighting or running?” I ask, checking the Trace for clues. _Briatte doesn’t have regular short-breath symptoms either, but when she gets her blood pumping she seems to run out of breath. Maybe it’s the same thing._

He shakes his head, but I think I’ve already deduced the cause. _An elementalist, maybe…?_ The lingering trace is sweet, like the air before a storm.

“Did you fight Sir Fouhte in the battle?”

“I—maybe?” He blinks. “It all happened so fast…”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes and concentrate on his breathing. It’s still irregular. “I think he may have caused you some lung trouble. Go lie down with the others so we can make sure it isn’t permanent.”

He shrugs and ambles off and I’m glad that Riviens are at least less eager than Thundrians to self-martyr.

I continue to work my way through the crowd, sending the healthier knights to fetch water, meat, and fruit to get everyone’s energy back up. Once Lady Fennen and I have separated everyone into ‘needs immediate attention’ and ‘can go a few hours before treatment,’ we begin to address people one by one. I stay at her side for this, wetting gauze and cleaning wounds while she stitches deep cuts, sets wrists, and binds broken fingers. No one has any life-threatening injuries, which is a huge relief.

_I can’t deal with another death._ I already have a feeling in my chest like broken glass. I don’t want to imagine what another tragedy on top of this all would mean.

We work until late in the evening. The queen comes in to speak with Lady Fennen and I continue checking up on the people we’ve already treated, getting them an extra pillow or a cup of water or ice for smaller bruises and scrapes. I watch the queen out of the corner of my eye, though, while attending to the court.

On the surface, she seems normal, placid, and steady in her movements. But the longer I watch, the more I notice the tiny things that seem off about her. Her undershirt has come untucked and hair escapes her braid, but she pays no mind to either of them. She waves her hand as she says something, then leaves her arm hanging in the air, forgotten. It unsettles me.

I look away, then something occurs to me. _Sir Cawle’s going to be exiled. And he was captain of the guard. So who’s going to be our new captain?_

I survey the court, the familiar faces blurring together. _Sir Strommer, maybe?_ Would people see that as nepotism? _Lady Fuor?_ We’ve never had a woman as the captain of guard, or at least it was so long ago that I don’t remember. _I guess Queen Bluelianna must have been captain once._

How would the court take it? I know that just about everyone thinks that Queen Bluelianna is a member of the Starlaxi that walks on earth, but it’s a very different thing, respecting a monarch and taking daily orders from a woman. _Would they worship her the same way if she was telling them to go out on supply runs every morning?_

“All those who are able, come to the throne room for a court meeting,” the queen announces, her voice commanding the attention of every person in the wing.

The queen turns sharply on her heel and strides out. I watch her go, feeling strangely tense. _She’ll be fine. She has to be._

I glance at Lady Fennen, who nods at me. After giving Sir Baley a last once-over, I follow the queen out into the throne room.

Sir Cawle stands on the dais.

_Tigerclaw_ is nowhere in sight. His hands are bound in front of him, and the remains of his captain’s uniform hang off him in tatters. Really, only a strip of maroon fabric lays across his shoulder and over his chest. What’s left of the Thundrian emblem is a shapeless yellow patch. His good eye darts from side to side, watching carefully, and his mouth is twisted. His other eye is just a hole that dribbles blood down his face; he has nothing to cover it with, and doesn’t bother attempting to.

Samn stands next to him, looking icy cold. She is completely expressionless, but her grip on _Sandstorm_ makes me certain she’s more than ready to cut him open if he tries anything. As the court filters out of the healer’s wing, assembling in the throne room, the queen tears her eyes away from Sir Cawle and addresses them.

“Thundria is indebted to Rivier. Your courage has saved us from many unnecessary losses today,” she says, her gaze landing warmly on Meistya and Stowen.

Leaparra seems a little taken aback at the queen’s praise, but she recovers quickly and dips her head. “You’re welcome. Thank you for treating our knights.”

The commendation doesn’t seem to flow from the Rivien captain with the same ease that it did the queen, but the queen nods graciously anyway.

“If any are too injured to travel, they will be looked after by our healer and novitiate until they are able to return to your noble court.”

I see eyebrows raised at the queen’s adulatory word choice, but no one speaks. Leaparra inclines her chin again, looking a little uncomfortable.

“I don’t believe any of ours were so badly injured,” she answers. “We’ll depart as soon as we can.”

Lady Fore signals to Sir Clah, who ducks back into the healer’s wing to round up the Rivien knights. I watch them go, unable to help myself from feeling that there’s a darker current in their aid. _The queen said we were indebted to them. Are they going to call in that debt by asking the queen to give up Graie’s children?_ My heart twists. _She can’t! He needs them._

But she says nothing as she leads her knights out. Just gives the queen one last, long look, and then pushes the doors open and leaves. A little bit of tension leaves my body when they’re gone. No matter that they were fighting on our side, they can’t be present when the queen deals with Sir Cawle.

The doors close.

The queen looks down on her court, steeling herself for the announcement.

“During the battle with the mercenaries today, Sir Cawle attacked me in my private chambers,” she says.

Shocked cries immediately erupt from the court. _He planned it well,_ I think, feeling cold as I regard him, his unrepentant look firmly on his face. _If the queen had died, there would have been no witnesses. He could have said it was a mercenary._ He didn’t account for Samn being there.

“He couldn’t have!” Liang shouts.

I look at him and expect to feel angry at him for his willful ignorance. But the anger doesn’t come. I just pity him for being so naive, so willing to swallow Sir Cawle’s lies. _Sir Cawle tried to kill me, and he was willing to jump into the gorge to save me but not believe that Sir Cawle had meant for me to fall. Loyal but so, so stupid._

“He did,” the queen says. Her voice turns to a flat monotone as she continues. “I was warned of his treachery, and I ignored it. I have been a fool, and I have put you all at risk.”

Samn shifts uneasily and the queen motions for her to speak. Samn looks at her, brow creasing, then says, “Sir Cawle killed my father.”

Confusion and uproar abounds. I watch it all, feeling strangely detached. I see Lady Peilte turn to Lady Fuor, disbelief on her face. I see Lady Faise’s face ripple with the dredged-up pain of her husband’s death. And I see Sir Strommer stare at Sir Cawle, looking utterly betrayed.

“Oeak Hahrte wasn’t responsible for my father’s death,” Samn announces. “Sir Hahrte was killed in a cave-in during the battle. Sir Cawle then attacked my father and killed him, then lied to us all.”

The queen is quiet, her eyes trained on Sir Cawle. After many moments, she speaks. “Do you deny it?”

He doesn’t speak, just watches the court. I feel a shiver as his dark eye runs over each of us.

“Do you have anything at _all_ to say?” the queen presses.

And then he laughs, a low, ragged sound. “I have nothing to say to a queen like you but this: You have made Thundria weak. Begging at the hand of other kingdoms. You have failed us, again and again, and I saw my chance to make us strong. So I took it. Can any of you fault me for that?”

No one speaks. I don’t see a single sympathetic face in the crowd. Only Sir Styrp looks anything other than disgusted and outraged. He looks like he’s been torn in half. Like his whole life was a lie. _Because Sir Cawle tried to kill the queen? Or because he failed?_

“Then you will be exiled,” the queen says, her voice soft. There’s an odd glow in her eyes, though, that makes me a bit fearful of her next words. “And may the _Starlaxi_ have mercy on your soul.”

The way she spits ‘Starlaxi’ sends a shiver of unease up my back. Lady Fennen’s as blasphemous as they come, but the queen always seemed a little more reverent. She holds his gaze until Sir Cawle looks down, his jaw set.

And when the queen looks back up, her eyes dull and cold, I think I see the first crack.


	22. Chapter 21 - Fiyr

Chapter 21 - Fiyr

When the Riviens are gone, a cold feeling settles over me.

Despite my gratitude to them and the hovering feeling that I might not have made it out of that battle if it weren’t for a few choice interventions by their knights, I can’t help being acutely aware of how they were close enough to help in the first place. _They didn’t just hear the battles for miles away. A dozen battle-ready knights were close by. They were going to come take Graie’s son and daughter by force._ We’ve bought ourselves another week, maybe, but if King Crukkedaro was ready to renege on his agreement to allow the queen until the next solstice to give her answer, I don’t doubt he’ll be back.

Riviens aside, though, Thundria has greater problems. _One_ problem, and he’s standing on our dais, his uniform ripped up and his left eye streaking blood. _How did that happen?_

“Then you will be exiled,” the queen announces. “And may the _Starlaxi_ have mercy on your soul.”

A breath that I’ve been holding for a decade finally, finally leaves my body. _It’s over._

Sir Cawle huffs what might be a laugh, and steps down from the dais. The court ripples as we all take a step back from him. He swings his head from side to side, taking us all in.

“Don’t think this is the end,” he says. Menace glitters in his eye as I meet his stare. “I _will_ be king. And I promise that any who choose to follow me now will be well looked after.”

I wonder for a moment if anyone will follow him. When no one speaks, Sir Cawle begins again.

“Goldanna?”

She stands in the nursery’s doorway, hands curled protectively over her stomach. “Get out of my sight. You have betrayed us all and I’d die before I follow you into darkness.”

I’m a little impressed by her words, but I can’t help fearing for the children in her stomach. _How are they going to survive growing up in a court that knew their father to be a tyrant?_

Sir Cawle nods, his expression unreadable. “Darriek?”

Sir Styrp looks horrified. He takes a step back, recoiling from this man he’s followed at every turn, and says, “You would collude with that _tyrant?_ I… _No_ , Tigre!”

He shrugs. “I did what I had to. Liang?”

“You tried to kill the queen!” Liang exclaims, shrinking away from Sir Cawle like he’s a wild animal. “Leave the court and don’t come back.”

_Coward._ I wonder how truthful Liang and Darriek are being. _They’ve supported him in everything. I don’t believe for a second that Tigre didn’t tell Darriek, at least, his plans. Does he want spies? Is this a performance?_ I’ll have to keep an eye on the two of them.

“Duss?” Sir Cawle extends a hand to the young knight. “You’ve always had strength meant for greater things than serving this pathetic kingdom. Come with me and I promise—”

“Fuck off,” Duss snarls. His voice trembles as he says, “I respected you—I wanted to _be_ like you. And you killed Sir Tayle, tried to kill the queen… Who’s going to be next? Get out.”

_That one, I believe._ Despite the gravity of the situation, I can’t help a grim smile at Duss’s words. _Finally. They see through his lies. This is his come-uppance._

Sir Cawle huffs again, then a real chuckle builds in his chest until he lets out a raucous roar of laughter. “I see! I see. Very well. Then I’ll be back one day to make you all regret the choice you’ve made today.”

“You need to leave,” Samn says, deadly quiet. A silent ‘before I kill you’ echoes in my head as I watch her. This has all unearthed her pain over losing Sir Tayle again, I know, and I can see in her eyes that she’d like nothing more than to take out his other eye with _Sandstorm_ if he should be so unlucky as to give her a reason.

“I’ll have my revenge,” he promises, before turning and stalking toward the doors of the castle. The court flows around him, everyone in a hurry to get out of his way despite the fact that I’m quite sure he’s not going to be doing anything in his current state.

He’s too proud to let us see it, but I can tell that his leg has been hurt, possibly badly, and his gait is too slow to be natural. The court watches, completely silent, as he hauls open the doors, and disappears.

The doors close with the sound of a coffin being dropped into a grave. The dull thud is engraved into my memory, and I live in the moment for just a second longer before turning back to the queen.

The time has come for her to appoint a new captain of the guard; as per the code, she has until midnight, but we’re all gathered already, so I would guess she’s going to do it now. But I’m wrong; she just gives the court a hopeless look and turns around to limp back into her private chambers. Unfilled, the hole that Sir Cawle left gapes wide.

It’s as if the court has sucked in a breath, and with the queen’s disappearance, it is exhaled in conversations and disbelieving exclamations. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that I can’t bear to listen to everyone chatter about how unexpected this was, so I turn around and walk to the healer’s wing. There’s still a dull throb of pain in my head and the vision in my wounded eye is blurry. Yllowei told me to come back so she could have a look at it.

I don’t find her, though; Cindra is the only person in the healer’s wing. She’s staring out the window, and I hesitate, wondering whether I should disturb her or not. _This must all be weighing heavily on her, so soon after Sila’s death,_ I think, but don’t call out to her. _I’ll check in on her later. She might just need some time alone._

Instead, I check the Trace and follow Yllowei’s trace out of the wing and toward the castle doors. I pull them open, blinking as the night air sweeps over me. I didn’t realize it was getting so late, but the moon is already out. _The queen doesn’t have long before she needs to appoint the new captain._

I step out into the night, a warm breeze gusting over me, and peer through the moonlight in the direction that Yllowei’s trace is coming from. I can just make out a figure in the faint light, and as I creep closer, stepping down onto the stone terrace, two more details present themselves. First, the stench-like trace of death. _Someone died, and recently._ And second, the sound of harsh, raspy sobs.

I freeze, feeling suddenly that I’m intruding, but my mind is racing ahead of me to piece it together.

_Death. Yllowei. Crying._

Her son.

She killed Braukkin.

I press through the trace of death to find what’s hiding under it and… his trace is already fading. The last imprint he’ll ever leave on the fifth dimension, and it’s beginning to weaken. I watch helplessly as Lady Fennen cries for him, then finally stumble backwards, pushing the castle doors open and retreating into the throne room.

When I’m back in the torchlight, the doors sealed shut in front of me, I realize my heart is racing. _Sir Cawle is gone. Braukkin is dead._ Is the queen going to punish Yllowei for killing him? She didn’t say a word to anyone about it, as far as I know. I don’t fault her, but at the same time… _She decided to kill him and now he’s dead._ It’s so simple, and yet so troubling for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on. _I guess it really is over._ Now all that’s left is for the queen to appoint someone captain so that things can finally go back to normal.

Just as I’m crossing the throne room to go find Graie and see how he’s doing, Cindra bursts out of the nursery and limps with startling speed toward me, eyes wild.

“What’s wrong?” I demand.

“Lady Flourer…” she pants. “Giving birth. Where’s Lady Fennen?”

I’m too stunned to do anything more than point at the castle doors. Before I can warn her, Cindra peels away from my side and hurries out into the night to fetch her, her cane clacking on the stone with each step. I can only hope that Yllowei finished mourning her son in the minute it’s been since I came back inside.

Tearing my eyes away from the front doors, I direct them toward the nursery instead. Faern, Sarola, Siotos, and Rhane are all being ushered out by Lady Fuor, presumably to make space for Lady Flourer. _So soon after Tigre was exiled…_ I think of the soon-to-be-newborns pityingly. _It’s not going to be an easy road for them. The battle and Sir Cawle’s unmasking… did it send her into an early labour?_ Silaverre’s last convulsion flashes in my head.

The doors open once more and Cindra and Yllowei come through them, Cindra hurrying her mentor along much to Yllowei’s chagrin. Braukkin’s corpse is nowhere in sight. They disappear into the nursery and I’m more than happy to leave them to it. The memory of Silaverre isn’t leaving.

It’s what I remember most from a night that was mostly a blur—the last jerk of her body before it went limp. So unnatural. I shy away from the memory and turn my gaze to the stairs up the knight’s wing. I still want to check on Graie—I don’t doubt that he’s also made the connection between the Riviens conveniently showing up and his two children.

I find him in his room. He wasn’t badly wounded in the battle, but he’s streaked with gray dust. Residue from using his life-force, I’d guess.

“Graie? Can I come in?” I ask softly from his doorway.

He turns to see me. After a moment, he nods and I move carefully through his room, then sit down on the bed next to him.

“How are you holding up?” I ask him.

He gives a bitter laugh. “Not better. I’m glad Sir Cawle’s finally gone.”

I nod, opening my mouth and then closing it again, feeling the enormous burden that hangs over us, unspeakable in its pain. _The wound is too fresh._ I don’t even want to say her name.

“What about your kids? Have you decided how you’re going to name them yet?” I ask.

He gives a single shake of his head, then pauses for so long that I’m not sure if he’s going to say anymore. Finally, he speaks. “Probably won’t be for their life-force, if my luck carries to them. She… she never told me the story of her demonstration.”

His words are thick with grief and I want to say something to comfort him. There are no words, though.

“I can’t stop thinking about everything that we missed out on together.” His voice has softened to a whisper like he’s trying not to cry, but he soldiers on. “Everything that was stolen from us for no reason at all. I just…” He shakes his head. “I just want to talk to her again.”

I swallow, trying not to tear up too.

“And now Rivier is going to take my children from me too,” he continues, his tone darkening. “I can’t live without them, Fiyr, don’t you understand?”

“I do,” I promise him.

He shakes his head. “I’d… I’d do anything to keep them, but I know that the queen…” He lowers his head into his hands and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “She has to do what she has to do. And so do I.”

Even though I’m not quite sure what he’s talking about at this point, I lay my hand on his shoulder and pull him closer to me. We stay close and trembling for a long time.

…

Eventually, Graie says he’s going to try to get some sleep and after I agree that it’s probably a good idea, I leave his room and head back down to the throne room. It’s only then that I remember that Lady Flourer’s giving birth.

Or rather, was, because the moment I’m down on the stone floor, I can hear the sounds of babies crying. It’s coming from the healer’s wing; Cindra and Yllowei must have moved her there during the labour. Curiosity overtaking me, I move into the doorway of the wing to see the new mother set up in one of the cots further from the entrance, two bundles securely in her arms with Cindra and Lady Fennen standing over her.

Cindra spots me and murmurs something to Lady Flourer, who answers her in a low tone, then Cindra waves me over.

“Would you like to meet them?” Goldanna asks me, smiling down at their upturned faces.

_This is unexpected._ I’m a little nervous around her considering the circumstances. _The last woman to have just given birth I saw died so soon after…_ But looking down at the little babies, I can’t help feeling my heart melt.

“Sure, I’d like that,” I say, coming around the side of the bed to see them.

Despite their mother’s deep brown, almost bronze, skin tone, darker than most Thundrians, the children are both pale brown. I’m not surprised, though; Sir Cawle was as pale as Thundrians come. Scrunched-shut eyes with dark lashes frame their two perfect little, flat noses and their mouths open and close as they snuffle and fuss.

“A boy and a girl,” she tells me, raising them each a little in turn.

“Beautiful,” I mumble, peering closer at them.

The boy has a little thatch of dark curls already, while his sister has the patchy hair colouring that marks her with the Blessing; some golden-blonde like her mother, and some dark like her brother. Her skin is also different, though I don’t think it’s a result of the Blessing. Around her eyes and mouth, it’s paler, almost white, like paint. The patterning of the uncoloured skin is perfectly even on both sides, lending her the appearance of butterfly wings spread over her face.

“A harmless skin condition,” Lady Fennen informs me in a raspy tone. “I knew a Shodawes who had the same, though it was less visible on his pale skin. They’re both perfectly healthy.”

I nod, relieved, my eyes sliding to Goldanna’s face as I subconsciously wait for any sign that she’s about to have a seizure. She’s fine, though, looking down at her two children with pride in her eyes.

“You must be very proud,” I finally say.

“I am.” Her eyes glint with a fierce protectiveness that I’m glad to see. _She’ll protect them from whispers._

“Alright,” Yllowei grunts. “Thank you for visiting but now you must go away.”

Cindra gives me a half-smile at Lady Fennen’s curt order, but I can see glimmering deep in her eyes that I wasn’t the only one thinking of Silaverre when I look at Goldanna and her children. I try to put that understanding in my gaze as I nod at her, then to Lady Fennen, and leave the healer’s wing.

As I return to the throne room, I see more and more of the court gathering. Even the elders have come out, standing together by the hallway to their wing. I don’t know why; I haven’t heard the queen’s call, but then it hits me. _It must be past midnight. Where’s the queen? She has to appoint the new captain._

The seconds turn to the minutes and there’s no sign of her. I shift uncomfortably and look around the throne room. Everyone seems to share my misgivings. _I know there was something off about her when she exiled Sir Cawle but surely now he’s gone and everything is going to be okay, isn’t it? It was a shock, sure, but we did warn her._

Samn finds me in the crowd.

“How are you?” she asks, gesturing to my eye.

“Better than it looks, I think,” I answer, ghosting my fingertips over the site of the injury. It’s tender, but my vision has cleared considerably. I’m relieved to see that she doesn’t look badly hurt, but I still have to ask, just in case. “How are you?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t get hurt much. Sir Cawle was too occupied with trying to kill the queen and Cindra to bother swinging for me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Cindra?”

“Yeah, how’d you think his eye got fucked up?” She snorts when she sees my shock. “She put a cinder right through it. Did you teach her that?”

I shake my head, amazed. “No, I… have no idea where she learned that.”

“Well, however she learned it, it worked. He didn’t put up much of a fight after that.” Her jaw tightens at the memory. “And now he’s gone.”

“Forever,” I agree. “He can’t hurt us now.”

Samn gives me a doubtful look. “You heard him, though. This isn’t the last we’ve seen of him.”

I don’t want to believe it, but in my heart, I know she’s right. I saw the conviction burning in Sir Cawle. I know he’s not the type to give up until he’s got a crown or a grave.

“Who do you think the new captain will be?” I ask instead.

She blinks. “I honestly have no idea. It’s… it’s midnight, isn’t it?”

I just nod.

She presses her lips together, looking worried, but quickly changes the subject. “I wanted to talk to you. After the queen’s appointed the new captain, but… I… I feel like we need to talk.”

Her words set me on edge, but I try to cover my nerves. “Sure.”

I want to ask, but she’s already fading back into the crowd, seeking out Briatte, and I fall silent. _What could that be about?_ My paranoia says she’s going to tell me we can’t be close anymore, but the more rational side keeps those fears at bay. Somewhat, anyway, and she’s given the paranoia plenty of time to turn the tables since there’s still no sign of the queen.

Time stretches out, unbearable, as the door of the queen’s chambers remains closed. I’m certain midnight has come and gone. It must be approaching dawn when the door opens.

The queen emerges. Her face is expressionless, though her eyes dart from side to side as if they’re expecting an attack. Finally, she comes to a stop at the edge of the dais. I draw in a breath, and I can almost feel everyone else in the court doing the same.

“Thundria.”

The word drops like a stone into a pool, rippling over us.

“The new captain of the guard…”

She trails off, leaving us all in suspension, seemingly without realizing. Her eyes seek out mine in the crowd, so blankly blue that I wonder if she recognizes me at all, before they move on, seeking out another.

“The new captain of the guard of Thundria,” she begins again, voice hoarse, “will be Samn Schorme.”

And then she turns around and retreats back into her private chambers.

We are all silent for a moment, before Sir Strommer breaks it, giving Samn congratulations. I add my voice to his, feeling strangely out of place. Like for a moment, we’ve jerked off our trajectory, and been set in motion on some new track.

Samn doesn’t even attempt a smile, looking completely taken off-guard. Another few people toss out their congratulations, but they seem to bounce right off her. Finally, people begin to retreat to the knight’s wing, the nursery, the squire’s wing, and the elder’s wing. Samn and I are left standing alone in the throne room.

“Well. Now that the queen’s appointed the new captain, do you want to talk?” I don’t know if I’m trying to make a joke or not, but either way it comes out flat.

Samn looks at me, and for a moment I see past the shock. She looks terrified. I look up at the high roof, the distant torches, the blood splattered on the floor, and know that we can’t stay here.

“Come on. I know a good place.”

…

We go up to the north tower.

It’s a hot summer night, so this time I don’t need to summon fire to warm us, but I don’t think Samn notices. She tucks her arms around herself, a faraway look in her eye.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” I prompt her.

She shakes her head. “It seems so… so silly now. I can’t… I’m the captain of the guard.”

“You are,” I agree.

“Do you think she made the wrong choice?”

I’m surprised by the question and by the intensity of her gaze, but the answer comes to me easily. “No. You’re young, sure, but you’re smart and brave and _loyal_ , which is more than can be said for the last captain.”

She nods, drinking in my words like they’re water to a dying man. “And the court? Will they accept me?”

“Who cares?” I force a smile, and as soon as it breaks over my face, it becomes genuine. “The queen is the only one that matters. They’ll grow to respect you. Even Darriek.”

She snorts. “Doubt it.”

I shrug. “You never know.”

Samn sighs, then looks out into the starry sky. I’m a bit nervous to hear her next words, but all she says is, “I’m worried about the queen.”

“Me too,” I admit softly. “She’s just shocked from Sir Cawle, though, isn’t she? She’ll be back to normal soon and you two will prove Thundria a force to be reckoned with.”

Samn snorts again, but I nudge her.

“I’m serious. King Naitienne better look out.”

She laughs and relief swells in my chest. _If she can laugh, then maybe we’re all going to be okay._ I laugh too, mostly out of giddiness, then say, “But really, what did you want to talk with me about?”

Her laughter subsides, leaving a crooked smile in its place. She looks at me, measuring, or maybe waiting. _Always calculating._

“I…” She hesitates. “Briatte and I were just coming back from hunting and I heard the shouts, so I ran into the throne room to start fighting and… I saw you get hit. And then I saw Sir Cawle pretending to fight the mercenaries and I knew I had to protect the queen, but leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

I suddenly can’t seem to remember how to breathe as she swallows, her jaw flickering as she works out her next words like they’re a puzzle.

“I wanted to… it’s just that, after Lady Strime died so suddenly…” When I flinch at the mention, her eyes fill with horror. “Oh no, I knew I shouldn’t mention her!”

I shake my head. “It’s—just keep talking.”

Samn seems very nervous, suddenly, her eyes darting over me. Still evaluating, still trying to guess what’s going to happen next, as she says, “In the battle, I realized that if anything happened, I wouldn’t want… it to _happen_ without telling you something first. I… I _care_ about you. Deeply.”

At the words, some kind of dam breaks in my chest, and it seems so ridiculous, all of it. That we’ve been wasting time, that we’ve been lying to each other and looking away, that I haven’t told her just how deeply she’s gotten to me, that she’s still uncertain. Graie’s words echo in my head, _I can’t stop thinking about everything that we missed out on together._ Even with the massive differences in our situations, a thread of truth runs through everyone’s life. _We only have so long. And I’m not wasting any more time._ I laugh.

“Fuck that.”

Terror lights her gaze and I grab her hands.

“I love you. I’d have to be crazy not to, but then again, I feel crazy half the time,” I tell her, the words pouring out like a flood. “I love you so much that sometimes I think I’m going to cry. And I’m glad you’re scared for me, because I’m scared for you. _Always_. I—I know this isn’t the greatest time, because we can’t seem to be free of some kind of trouble, but I have to say it. Because it’s true. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I want to be with you forever.”

I run out of breath and then she kisses me.

Relief shines through me, radiant as the sun, and I press myself to Samn, my fingers tangling in her hair. My cheeks are wet—one of us is crying. It doesn’t matter which, not anymore, because she has me and I have her. Eventually, we separate and I regard her, unable to help the joy that overflows in my chest. I know tears are still pooled in my eyes, but somehow, I start to laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” Samn exclaims, but the insecurity and fear from minutes before has been replaced with adoration and peace.

“I’m just… so relieved.” I can’t explain it, not really, but I still try for her sake. “I—” My voice starts to quaver as the tears spill over my lashes. “I just love you so much.”

Then it’s her turn to laugh, and she hugs me tight to her, finally murmuring, “I love you too.” She pauses for a long time, and I think I can feel her heart beating. Maybe it’s my own. “I—I’m worried. And I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but I know that I love you.”

“Then everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper back.


	23. Chapter 22 - Fiyr

Chapter 22 - Fiyr

When the court wakes the next morning, I get the impression that half of them had thought that Samn’s promotion would be immediately overturned by the queen. She doesn’t leave her private quarters, though, and Samn soon disappears into them to speak with her.

I had offered to go talk to Queen Bluelianna with her, but Samn declined. I understand why, though—she and the queen have always had some kind of connection, and if anyone can help her return to her old self, I think it’s going to be Samn.

While our captain and monarch are holed-up in their private room, though, the rest of the court is left to just stand around awkwardly. Liang, who looks like he didn’t get much sleep at all, throws up his hands within minutes and leaves with Sewif. I shift uncomfortably at his blatant disregard for Samn’s authority as the captain of the guard, but no one stops him and I don’t want to cause a fuss.

Everyone else seems mostly content to spend longer eating breakfast in the dining hall and dawdling around the throne room until Samn reappears. She looks grim, but gives a slight shake of her head when I shoot her a concerned look. I want to go over and ask how the queen is, but the entire rest of the court seems to have had the same idea first and she’s quickly mobbed.

“Lady Fyrra and Sir Strommer, I want you to lead the two dawn patrols to the Shodawes and Rivien borders, respectively,” she commands, ignoring the questions about the queen. “Take whoever you like. Sir Wynnd and Sir Teyl, take this list to Thermo and get what you can carry and they can spare. Sir Teyl, you bring Sew—”

I cringe as Samn pauses, her authoritative tone wavering as she realizes Liang is missing.

“Where’s Sir Teyl?” she asks, but no one answers.

“He left with Sewif,” I tell her, trying not to announce it to the whole court and failing. They’re packed too tightly around us for them to not hear me tell Samn about Liang’s disrespect.

“Oh.” A frown flashes across her face, then disappears. “Well then… um…” She glances back at the queen’s door like it will tell her what to do, then after a moment turns back to us and says, “Fine. Sir Styrp, you can go with Sir Wynnd.”

The moment I see Darriek’s face, I know there’s going to be trouble. He scowls at the order and then crosses his arms defiantly. “Am I supposed to take orders from a lady of the court?”

“No,” Samn answers crisply, “you’re supposed to take orders from your captain. Now go to Thermo and don’t come back unless it’s with…” she pauses to examine the list, “...a ten-yard bolt of green cotton, a drum of cooking oil, and Thundria’s share of the plum harvest.”

She offers the sheaf of paper to him, but instead of taking it from her, he stalks out of the crowd with a final glower. Sir Wynnd accepts the list from her and shoots her an apologetic, murmuring, “The transition between captains is always a little rocky. You’re doing a fine job.”

Samn gives him a grateful nod, but I can’t help thinking that Darriek’s comments weren’t of the ‘I disagree with your style of leadership’ variety. _Still. Most of the court doesn’t think that, surely?_ Although now that I’m looking for it, I wonder if the twist in Lady Fyrra’s mouth is from Samn giving orders, or if the reason the elders are hovering around the throne room, murmuring to each other, is her promotion.

Despite what people may think, everyone else keeps it to themselves, and Samn organizes the rest of the day’s schedule without incident. She puts me on a mid-afternoon supply run to the village of the Sun Rocks with the suggestion that I take Clowd hunting afterwards.

Eventually, everyone disperses: all either sent off on their morning patrol or otherwise occupying themselves. That leaves me alone with Samn again. My belly grumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything yet today.

“Hungry? Let’s get some breakfast,” she suggests. “Mom was up early this morning making some big special thing for my first day as captain.”

At the promise of a ‘big special breakfast’, my stomach quiets down in anticipation. When we arrive in the kitchen, I can smell something fried and salty. Also, coffee. Lady Faise stands over a stove, while Lady Fuor spots us as we come in, handing Samn a cup of coffee that I assume was prepared in advance.

“Congratulations,” she tells her. “I know we’re lucky to have you as captain. You remind me a lot of the queen when she was younger, from what I remember, and I’m sure the queen has enough years left in her to train you up a bit more.”

Frostialla winks and then turns away to the stove to take a plate from Lady Faise, who shoots her daughter a smile. I’m relieved that they, at least, seem genuine with their faith in Samn. Samn seems to be bolstered by the lady’s praise and the knot that’s been firmly lined in her forehead finally untangles.

We’re both given plates by Lady Faise and shooed out of the kitchen as they begin to clean up. _I guess everyone’s already eaten._ I’d overslept a bit, still basking in the warmth of the morning, and Samn had been off conferring with the queen in private, but I’m glad we’ve gotten the opportunity to talk. Also, to eat: the ‘big special breakfast’ turns out to be some kind of egg and potato omelette with a layer of ham in it.

“What is it?” I ask Samn as we sit, inspecting my plate.

She sips her coffee, seeming a little revived by the bitter cup, then answers with a half-smile, “ _Pincho de tortilla_ , very classic Old Thundrian breakfast.” As she picks up her fork, she huffs a little laugh.

“What’s funny about it?” I raise an eyebrow.

“It’s not _just_ a breakfast,” she explains, “it’s also a hangover cure. Mom was so sure I was going to be captain someday that she’s been planning to make this since I was a little kid.”

_She was going to make a hangover cure for Samn’s breakfast after she was appointed captain?_

“I guess she thought it would be a more joyous occasion,” Samn mumbles. “And that we’d need a hangover cure.”

Though it’s ironically, a sobering statement, I can’t help a smile. “I had a pretty good night last night.”

She snorts at me and I repress a giggle, but after a moment she levels a more serious look at me. “I actually wanted to talk to you. Relating to what—what I said last night.”

I blink, trying to push back the old concerns that I misread the situation. _She said she loved me._ Even just remembering it sends a twinge of warmth through me. _There is no way I could have ‘misread’_ that _._

“I…” She pauses, as if trying to phrase it properly. “I do want to Unite with you. And maybe one day, have kids, and... the whole… everything.”

_Whoa. That’s… a lot at once._ An old, anxious part of me finally shuts up. “Oh! Well, I… want to as well,” I agree, made almost dizzy by the confession. Despite that, there still seems to be something on her mind and I search her gaze. “What’s wrong, though?”

She licks her lips nervously and glances at the entrance to the dining hall, where we can see the throne room and in it, the court going about their days. “This captain thing has really thrown me off. But… look. I’m worried that if I suddenly rush into getting United, everyone’s going to think that I’m going to be pregnant soon after.”

“Right…?” I’m still not completely sure what she’s getting at. _Isn’t that usually why people get United at court? To show who the parents of the children are and to be together in a more established way?_

“I just…” She rubs her eyes and then takes a sip of coffee, before continuing. “If I have kids, that’s twelve years of my life that are being put toward having and raising children. During that time, even if I stay captain in title, I won’t be performing the duties that I’m expected to. That I _want_ to.”

“You don’t want everyone to think that you’re just a temporary captain of the guard,” I guess.

“Yes!” Her eyes flash. “I’m going to be captain for a long, long time if everything goes well. I’m young, the queen’s still strong as ever, and I’m not going to try to kill her and steal the throne, so unless some dragon picks me off, I need to think about my future as the captain of the guard. I need to earn the respect of the court, like you said yesterday. Who’s going to respect me if they think that within a few months I’ll disappear into the nursery?”

“Ah.” I lean away from the table a bit, understanding. “You want to establish yourself as captain before you give anyone the idea you might have kids.”

She stabs her fork in the air in agreement as she chews a bite of her _pincho de tortilla_. Swallowing, she adds, “ _Exactly_.”

I shrug. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

There’s still a hint of concern in her expression, though. “You’re not disappointed? I was worried you… would want it all right away.”

I shake my head, stifling a laugh. “Samn, I’ve been waiting for you to stop hating me for more than a decade—I don’t mind waiting another few years while you prove to the court that you’ll be a great captain.”

“Actually, that brings up something else,” she admits, then fixes her gaze on me with an intensity that makes me redden. “I need to apologize to you. I treated you like shit when you first came to the court and there was no excuse.”

I shift uncomfortably. “Well, I also kind of—”

“No, I behaved terribly,” she insists.

“But your father—” I try again.

“His death was no excuse to take out my pain on you,” she counters. “I was angry and hurt and I directed it at you because I thought you were an easy target. And I know how wrong that was, now. I’m sorry.”

I want to argue, but I know she’ll shoot down the disagreement anyway, so I just duck my head. “Thanks.”

We eat in silence for a few minutes and I get the chance to fully appreciate Lady Faise’s cooking prowess. It’s mostly salt, fat, and ham, though, so I don’t imagine it would be easy to screw it up, but even so. It’s like a warm day after winter; crispy and chewy in the right places, and so comforting that I feel ready to go back to bed after finishing it off. I lick the last bit of grease off my lips.

“On a lighter note, I have to say that you had a pretty good retort lined up for Darriek this morning,” I remark to her as we clear our plates.

She actually laughs at that. “I couldn’t sleep last night, I was so worried about what everyone would say.”

“So you started crafting snarky answers?” I huff a laugh.

“Pretty much,” she admits. “It’s most of what I do at night. My mind can’t seem to settle down, so I just win arguments against myself.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” I give her a look and she frowns playfully. “What?”

I shake my head. “You are something else.”

I bring our plates to the kitchen and she chases after me, catching up easily. “C’mon, it’s not _that_ weird.”

“Yes, it is,” I answer, setting the plates down in the sink. I turn back to Samn. “That’s just a small step away from talking to yourself.”

She shrugs. “I do that too.”

The dishes clatter abruptly as I let go of them. “Should I be concerned?”

“It’s stupid stuff, just trying to figure out what to do and stuff like that,” she says. “You should try it.”

“I can sort out my own problems without sounding like a crazy person to anyone in the next room, thank you very much,” I tease.

“Your loss.”

With a flash of a smile, she leaves the kitchen. I watch her go, feeling a matching grin make its way across my face. When I look away at last, I see that Lady Fuor and Lady Faise are waiting in the doorway leading out of the castle. A basin of steaming water in Lady Faise’s arms explains their momentary absence, though they apparently came back quick enough to catch the end of our conversation. They’re wearing identical smirks.

I blush and try to scoot out of the kitchen before one of them can make a remark. Brindellia is too fast for me, though.

“So, should I start calling you ‘son?’” she inquires, though the splashing produced by her pouring the water into the sink saves me from having to reply immediately .

My blush deepens. “We’re not getting United!” I think of Sir Tayle for a moment. _It’s been a long time since I saw him in a dream… shouldn’t he be bringing his cryptic messages to his own daughter? What’s so special about me?_ He _better not call me ‘son’ the next time I see him…_

“Not _yet_ ,” Lady Fuor says, and from the way her mouth twitches, I can tell she’s enjoying this a little too much.

“Oh, shush,” I tell them, hurrying out before they can comment on my flaming cheeks. _Why do I still act like a lovesick squire?_ I ask the air silently. _And_ also _, why is my stubble so patchy? Am I shaving wrong?_ There are a few very important questions I have for the Starlaxi—or whoever cares to listen, but I still have some time before my mid-afternoon supply run, and I had been hoping to visit Cindra.

I didn’t get a chance to talk to her much after the battle last night and I know she was up late, making sure every injured member of the court was comfortable in the healer’s wing and checking up on their wounds. It lifted my heart a little to see her bustling around, comforting knights three times her size and working in tune with Yllowei, but I’m sure she’s exhausted.

When I head into the healer’s wing, though, I find it missing Thundria’s tiny novitiate. Lady Fennen’s wrapping something around Lady Peilte’s fingers over at her desk. I cross the wing, shooting sympathetic glances at the half-dozen members of the court that were kept overnight. My black eye cleared up enough that Yllowei permitted me to sleep in my own room, but not everyone was so lucky.

“Sir Harte,” Lady Fennen rasps, still engrossed in Willowamina’s fingers.

“Where’s Cindra?” I ask by way of greeting.

“Went to take breakfast to the queen,” she answers. “She’ll be back in a minute, I’m sure.” There’s a dark cloud hanging over Lady Fennen, and I remember last night.

Sure enough, not thirty seconds later, Cindra comes back through the doorway of the healer’s wing. I greet her with a smile, but she seems distracted.

“Fiyr.”

“Cindra? Is something wrong?” I follow her into the back of the healer’s wing where she and Yllowei have their rooms.

“Did you…” Cindra’s brow furrows. “Did you notice anything strange about breakfast? Did the leftovers taste strange?”

“Leftovers?” I shake my head. “I had the egg-potato thing that Lady Faise made, not leftovers.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Cindra clarifies. “The _pincho de tortilla_. I brought some to the queen and it was cold and weirdly green and black inside. It had a strange smell, too, so I threw it out. I just figured someone hadn’t put it away properly.”

_What…?_ “That’s impossible. Lady Faise made it specially for Samn this morning to celebrate her new position. It wasn’t leftovers.”

Cindra blinks. “What?”

_Then why was it green and_ black _?! It was freshly-made._

More than confused, though, Cindra looks _alarmed_.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” Cindra shakes her head and sits down on her bed, staring straight ahead with a fearful look. It seems like a bit of an overreaction to me, but maybe the queen was really upset.

“It’s just bad food,” I reassure. “I’m sure the queen knows you didn’t mean to give her rotten potatoes.”

“No, I don’t think it _is_ ‘just bad food,’” Cindra says, still not looking at me. “I think it’s an omen.”

“What?! Really?” _From the Starlaxi?_ “Have you told Lady Fennen yet?”

“No, not yet.” She looks down at her hands and her voice trembles a little as she says, “But I think I know what it means.”

I sit down on her bed as well and shift closer, my curiosity overtaking me. “What? What do you think it means?”

She turns to me finally, and I see that her eyes are filled with despair. “That Thundria is rotting. From the inside out.”

The alarming nature of that prediction makes me recoil, but I’m anxious to reassure Cindra. “That seems extreme! Why do you think that?”

She shakes her head, nibbling on her lip like she’s lost in some memory. “I… don’t you think the Starlaxi is upset with what’s going on in Thundria right now?”

_Is she talking about Samn?_ “What do you mean?”

“I mean with… with Sir Cawle, and the queen, and—and everything.” She waves her hand vaguely, but I can tell that something else is eating away at her and I’m going to find out what it is.

My instinct is proven right when she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, then runs her hands back through her hair and sighs, then finally drops them into her lap and says, “I broke the healer’s code.”

“You did?” I’m astonished. Of all the different answers for why she’s feeling this way, I never in a thousand years would have guessed that it was her breaking a rule. “What, do you have a Rivien wife too?”

The look she shoots me tells me it’s a bit soon to be making jokes about Silaverre. “No. In the battle. I attacked Braukkin and Sir Cawle. Healers aren’t supposed to hurt.”

_Sir Cawle’s eye,_ I remember suddenly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

As she tearfully recounts how she ran into the healer’s wing to get _Murderstick_ after she, Clowd, and I rode back to the castle and encountered Braukkin, sympathy wells in me. _How can she blame herself for defending herself?_

“I’m not even a novitiate yet, not _really_ ,” she says, voice shaking. “And I’ve already broken the code. The equinox is tonight, Fiyr! What if the Starlaxi rejects me? What if… what if I’ve ruined everything?”

“Don’t say that!” I exclaim. “Cindra, the Starlaxi can see our paths. They _know_ that you attacked them out of self-defense.”

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut like she’s pressing back tears. “I was scared for my life, that’s true. But I also _wanted_ to hurt Sir Cawle. On the rope bridge… when he tried to drown me…” She takes a quivering breath. “I felt so scared and helpless. And I wanted to hurt him for it. Healers aren’t supposed to want _revenge_.”

I take her hand and give it a squeeze as I choose my next words. _Would the Starlaxi really cast her out for that?_ I want to reassure her, but I also don’t know the answer to that question. _She’s courtborn. She was raised on tales of the Starlaxi. I_ know _of them, I’ve seen Sir Tayle and the Lunar Temple… but they’re not so much a part of me as they are for her. I survived twelve years without them, but for her to lose their favour…_ She must be terrified.

“Cindra… you say that it was revenge. But think of it another way,” I urge. “You knew firsthand how dangerous Sir Cawle was. He tried to kill you. You _knew_ that he would do it again if he could, so you protected yourself. How can the Starlaxi fault you for that?”

“But I broke the code, Fiyr. It’s like my life-force, like you told me. Some are just naturally more destructive than others. Maybe I am too; maybe I’m just not cut out to be a healer,” she says, her voice quieting until she sounds defeated.

_Oh, blessed Starlaxi, why did I have to tell her that?_

“No, Cindra, I was wrong,” I admit. “I thought that fire couldn’t heal, but remember after the fight with Braukkin and his outlaws, a couple years ago? You cauterized Lady Flourer’s wound. Besides, there’s so much more to being a healer than just life-force!”

She still doesn’t seem to be hearing my words.

“Even if you did break the code,” I allow, “better a code-breaker than dead. You saved your own life. I don’t care what the code says. What’s important is that you’re alive.”

“What about the Starlaxi?” At last, she seems to be a little less completely sure that her life is ruined, but doubts still cloud her eyes. “What if…”

She doesn’t have to finish her thought for me to know what she’s afraid of. _Being a healer brought meaning back to her life, and now she’s scared it’ll be taken away from her and she’ll be put back in the place she was after the accident on the soulpath._ Put in those terms, I’m scared too.

“If the Starlaxi gets angry that you saved your own life, I’ll march down to the Lunar Temple and chew them all out,” I say, hardly joking at all. “Their rules are great if it means we’re not all killing each other for no reason, but they do more harm than good sometimes.”

Cindra’s mouth drops open at my words, but I continue, my thoughts on Graie and Silaverre.

“You didn’t die. Whatever caused that is a good thing in my books. I don’t give a shit if you were thinking ‘bad’ thoughts when you saved your own life. I care that you’re still here, and if the Starlaxi has a problem with that, then they can come down here and tell me themselves why you should have died.” The words rush out of me as if they’ve been waiting a long time to be let out. When I’m finished, I take a deep breath.

I half-expect Cindra to be horrified by my irreverence, but instead, she throws her arms around me. I hug her back awkwardly, still trying to assess her emotional state. _Did Yllowei hear that? Is she going to yank me by hair over to the Lunar Temple to apologize? Did any of that even help Cindra?_

When she lets me go, I see that the tears that have pearled in corner of her eyes are gone. Her blue-gray eyes are still glassy with unshed ones, but she’s smiling.

“Thank you.”

“It’s the truth,” is all I can say. _What could have been different if our code was different? Would Silaverre still be with Graie? Would Cindra be less afraid to defend herself?_

“Will you volunteer to be the escort for me and Lady Fennen tonight?” she asks.

My eyebrows rise. _Since when do the healers need an escort? Who would attack a healer?_ “What? I mean—of course. I didn’t know you brought knights on the equinoxes.”

“The queen told Lady Fennen to bring one last equinox,” Cindra says. “With things how they are between us and the other kingdoms, not to mention the outlaws… and now with Sir Cawle…”

I nod grimly. “There’s a lot to be worried about.”

She nudges me. “I’d feel safe if you were the one with us.”

“What, you don’t want Duss?” I joke. “I’ve heard he’s an excellent conversationalist.”

She rolls her eyes and I laugh. Then she remarks, “While you’re here, why don’t I have a look at that eye?”

“It’s fine, really!” I protest, but she’s already getting out the little anti-swelling tincture and soothing drops. I sigh and resign myself to letting her pry my eye open and dribble a little fragrant liquid into it. _Great. Her last act as an un-confirmed novitiate will be to poke my eyeball. Truly a wonderful memory that she can look back on fondly in ten years._

…

“I think I’m the first novitiate to ever finish half her training before being accepted by the Starlaxi,” Cindra remarks. Lady Fennen has stopped answering her after the fifth random statement; I know Cindra’s really nervous, and it’s making her chatty.

“Stop trying to distract me; I have to keep an eye out!” I reprimand her jokingly, making a show of peering into the empty air.

We crossed the solstice pavilion slightly less than an hour ago and we’re riding along the Wynnder-Shodawes border. I’m bundled up in a scratchy brown travelling cloak, but even so, the nip of the autumn air is present on my cheeks when the wind blows.

The dusky sky is darkening little by little as the sun dips lower, just brushing the Silver Peaks. When we set out, the sun was still corn-yellow and high enough in the sky for us to see it above the trees, but evening has set in faster than I expected. I’m happy to be worried about whether we’ll be late or not rather than if we’re going to be set upon by mercenaries armed to the teeth.

Not a hair of the other kingdoms, either. The Rivien sea is just a mass of dark water with glints of reflected orange and red in the distance behind us, which I’m relieved by. I don’t want to see their captain, or their king, for that matter, until they agree to let Graie’s son and daughter stay in Thundria. Wynnd and Shodawa are another matter; the rolling hills to the left and the shadowed forests to the right are foreboding enough without a half-dozen knights jumping out to challenge us.

_They wouldn’t dare,_ I remind myself. But they dared to come to our castle, push through our defenses, and try to kill _our_ prisoner. _He’s dead now, though. There’s nothing more they can ask for._ I look at Lady Fennen’s dark silhouette. She rides in front of us, her pace steady and determined, but I’ve seen pain lingering in the lines of her face as of late. My heart aches, and I wonder if she’s told the queen. _What will the queen do, anyway? She didn’t want to kill him after Wynnd and Shodawa attacked, but then again… that was before he turned on us and tried to kill Cindra._ Just the memory of it makes my hands tighten around Blitz’s reins. _Ungrateful monster._

“We are almost there,” Yllowei speaks, her raspy words carried back to us by the wind.

Trepidation fills me and I remember the last time I visited here. _The first, too. As a squire… with Sir Cawle._ I remember crossing the soulpath, Sir Cawle’s dark gaze as he commanded Ravne to go first, his hands on my back when I faltered. _Throwing up. Samn making a glass bird. The terrifying vision._

I dart a sideways glance at Cindra. She’s much older than I was when I first came, but the wonder and fear that sits nakedly on her face reminds me of my own nervous anticipation. _I wonder what it’s like to be initiated. Surely different than how the queen brought us into the chamber. That was about her; she needed to speak to them._ Maybe she can go to the Silver Peaks again sometime soon. It might help her return to normal. _But tonight is about Cindra._ I know I’m probably not going to be invited into the temple, so when we reach the yawning mouth, carved thousands of years ago from white stone turned silver by the moon, I dismount Blitz and hang back.

As Cindra and Lady Fennen do the same, I check the Trace, half-instinctively. It’s familiar, and for a heartbeat I wonder if I remember it from almost a decade ago, but that’s not quite it, is it? _No… it feels like…_ It’s cold, sparkling, trembling… _Like the queen._ Which I guess makes sense; her Blessings must change her trace to make it feel like the Starlaxi and the Lunar Temple.

Yllowei leads the horses toward the treeline, and Cindra and I are left standing, halfway between the trees and the temple. As Cindra comes over to me, I see that she’s holding more than her staff.

“Is that…?” I peer at it, a little confused as to why she has it with her.  
She just nods, looking down at the sheathed sword in her hands. Then she looks back up at me and half-laughs, a strangled sound. “I think I’m the only novitiate to finish half her training before being accepted by the Starlaxi.”

“I—yeah, I know, you said that before,” I remind her, also laughing a little in a more bemused way.

She nods again, and then a tear drops off her cheek. “Here.”  
Cindra lifts the sheath and offers it to me. I take it, touched by her gesture, and gently slide the hilt out of the scabbard, revealing enough of the blade to see the little inscription. _Murderstick._ I smile. The name is a reminder of the girl she used to be. And I feel my eyes fill with tears as I look back up at her, standing in the moonlight in the clothes of a novitiate, holding her cane and smiling with more sadness than joy.

“I wanted to tell you something before I go in there,” she says, looking back quickly to see that Lady Fennen is still standing off aways by the trees. Maybe she knows that Cindra has some unfinished business.

I wait, feeling a little unsure of what she’ll say next.

She presses her lips together. “It’s… it’s stupid, I know, and I’m happy for… never mind. I—I only wanted to admit that I was kind of… kind of in love with you for like… all my squirehood.”

Her voice trembles a little, and then she gives a half-laugh.

“And when I was unofficially a novitiate. And until now. Well, still now. But I’m going to be a healer, and you don’t love me the same way, so I just… I know…” She fumbles with her words for a second and I can’t say anything at all. “I wanted to let it go. Or put it to rest, or whatever the right word is. You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make it awkward.”

I still can’t speak, anything I might have offered her in any slightly different circumstance just out of reach. _She was always fond of me. Sometimes I wondered. Never returned. Loved her like a sister. Never wanted to hurt her._ Nothing fits together in a way I could say aloud.

“But… even though I knew it wasn’t going to turn out…” Her voice softens until I can barely hear, as if the words might not be for me at all. “Turn out the way I might have wanted in another world, you were still so important to me. And I think you saved my life. So… thank you for everything. I wouldn’t change it.”

When I can speak again, all that leaves my mouth is, “Cindra…”

She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek quickly, almost awkwardly, and then smiles in that same painful way. She turns around and disappears into the Lunar Temple.


	24. Chapter 23 - Cindra

Chapter 23 - Cindra

Lady Fennen doesn’t ask me what Fiyr and I spoke about.

The tears have dried on my cheeks when I enter the temple, anyway. I’ve left the forests of Thundria behind, left my aching back and broken leg back on Ashes, and entered what feels like another dimension entirely. Something was hollowed out in my chest when I told Fiyr the truth, and as Lady Fennen leads me deeper into the cavernous temple, the flicker of her torch all that illuminates the arching roof and crumbling architecture, I feel that hollow filled with celestial awe.

There’s a kind of… ethereal beauty to this place. The air is colder in here than it was outside, heavy with the smell of earth and frost. Like layers of silk, I feel it wrapping me more and more tightly with each step, until I’m dressed in starlight; until it’s a part of me.

“We’re almost there,” Lady Fennen murmurs. “The other healers are waiting.”

I look up, into the shadows that gather like cobwebs in the vaulted roof. The white stone is almost ghostly in the torchlight, the pillars like sentinels that stand, waiting for me to pass. _This is what I was meant for._ The certainty brims in my chest as a gentle breeze that flows impossibly from deeper in the temple flickers across us, brushing my hair back and ruffling my skirts. The torch dances, revealing more and less of the temple like a tide, in and out.

_This is where I’m meant to be._

“Then let’s hurry,” I say, hardly more than a breath. I don’t want to disturb whatever spirits are sleeping in here.

We move deeper into the temple. Just the glow of Lady Fennen’s torch and the presence of the air, now. No Fiyr, no sideways glances, no petty spite, no broken dreams.

And then we come upon the main chamber.

It’s better lit than the others, not just because of the other healers with their torches. Despite being one of the largest rooms that I’ve seen yet, it’s mostly filled by the Lunar Crystal and there’s little space to stand.

I almost forget to breathe as I stare at it. Mountainous and gossamer-white, it swells to nearly to the edge of the room. It’s filled with glinting points of light, like jewelled stars in a white sky, and threaded with precious metals, twisting around each other and thickening or thinning in difference points in the opalescent mass. I feel tiny, staring up at its top and unable to even glimpse where the roof opens and the moonlight pours in, lighting the crystal from inside.

It’s transparent at the edges, and as I look left and right, I can see where the path that rings the edge of the room curves around the crystal, but deeper into the centre, a cloudy white mist seems frozen inside it, obscuring the core.

The ground we stand on, just a small platform of smooth granite meets the edge of the crystal, but farther to either side I see that the path winds down, away from the crystal, revealing that the massive crystal we’re looking at stretches much further down into the earth. The shadows don’t seem to have a bottom.

“Welcome.” It’s Med Feas, the Wynnder healer who speaks first.

The other two men, who I identify after a moment of squinting as Med Naos and Med Frer, echo his greeting. It’s difficult to see their faces; they’re backlit by the glow of the crystal and their faces are shrouded in darkness, but Lady Fennen has taught me their names and the dyes of their robes tell me which court they’re from.

“It’s time,” Lady Fennen says, looking away from the crystal and back at me. “Are you ready?”

I feel a great stillness creep over me, and for a moment, I remember my squire ceremony. _I was so excited. We both were. Mother made us comb and wash twice that day, and I forgot about the Shodawes man and being grabbed for the first time… I knew I was going to get the god-toy and I was so curious about him. I was excited for my sword. I was excited to leave the castle and have adventures._

I look up at the top of the crystal, where I can see the moonlight most clearly, and breathe out. _Everything has changed, but I’m still here._ I feel silly for being afraid they would reject me for hurting Sir Cawle. _They are fair and they know my heart. That’s all I can ask._

“Yes.”

Lady Fennen takes a deep breath and for a heartbeat, I see her eyes move to Med Naos. Maybe remembering when he was her novitiate. And then she looks back at me and says, her voice filling the room and echoing up and down the crystal, “Kings and queens of Thundria. This girl has chosen the path of a healer. Accept her role in your court. Healers of Thundria, this girl wishes to learn the mysteries of the Starlaxi and the craft of healing. Lend her your wisdom and insight so that she may heal the court in accordance to your will.”

She pauses and turns to the men that stand behind her.

“Will you accept this novitiate as Thundria’s next healer?”

“We will,” they all answer. Med Naos gives me a little encouraging smile.

“I will teach you all I know,” Lady Fennen promises me, turning back. Moonlight glints in her hazel gaze. “Will you obey the code to the best of your abilities and put the lives of your fellow people above all else?”

These words that I’ve never heard wash over me and I can’t help picking them apart, hearing the differences between this oath and that of a knight as clearly as night and day. _The lives of my fellow people. Not just Thundria. The best of my abilities. There is no absolutism, only faith and learning. That’s as much as I can do._

“I will.”

“Then it is time for you to speak with the Starlaxi.”

I stand still, watching and waiting as the three healers of the other kingdoms kneel in a little row. Lady Fennen takes her place beside them, easing herself down with the help of her staff. I take the couple steps that bring me within a hand-length of crystal, close enough to touch, and then kneel as well. I feel my broken leg fold under me and in the light of the crystal, the beauty of the moment, I remember, or realize, all of a sudden, that my leg is a part of me, and I love myself. _The Starlaxi understands._ This leg saved my life. I don’t want to forget again.

I press my forehead to the crystal and feel light flow into me.

…

My body’s upright, but I didn’t stand up. When I open my eyes, I half-expect to still be standing in front of the Lunar Crystal next to Lady Fennen, but I’m in a completely new place.

It actually takes my eyes a moment to adjust; I’ve gone from the semi-gloom of the Lunar Crystal’s cave to a nearly-bright white space. Before the reddish-black spots that cloud my vision have had a chance to clear, I can already feel a breeze rustling my uniform.

I’m standing on clouds. The sky above is a blue so pale that it’s almost white, but contrasted with the snow-white clouds under my feet, I can see that it’s just barely blue, with the luminous sun right overhead. _Is it day?_ I blink again, and look around. There’s a structure in the distance.

It’s like a bizarre version of the Thundrian castle; instead of trees, it’s supported by clouds, and instead of gray stone, it’s the creamy white stone of the Lunar Temple with gilt and filigreed gold nestled in the carvings of the doors, walls, and pillars. _Is this the castle of the Starlaxi?_

I can’t help but think of the Ser, from the fables. _This looks like the kind of beautiful architecture of them. And who else would be able to reach a castle in the clouds?_

My thoughts are pulled away from them when suddenly the doors are pulled open from the inside. I can only catch a glimpse of the inside, more of the same white stone and gold accenting, brightly lit by torches and sunlight, when a man passes out through them and lets the doors close behind him. He’s tall, really tall, and the sun turns his blond hair into pure gold.

As he nears, for just a split second, by some trick of the light, it looks like a massive pair of golden wings extend from his back, lending a lightness to his step that no human could have. And then they vanish as if they were never there at all. I soon forget about the odd sight as he comes close enough for me to make out his face.

“Dad.” It’s fallen from my lips before I can even think, before my conscious mind has remembered his features, his gait, his glorious beard… and I throw myself into his arms.

His arms close around me and I remember what it feels like to be safe.

“My girl,” he says.

I feel my chest shake a little as I cry, but I hold him as tightly as I can, trying to lock this into my memory forever. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“No, how could that be true? I’m not _really_ gone, you know that,” he says into the top of my head. “I’m still up here, watching from the Starlaxi. And I’m so proud of you.”

I feel my face crumpling again and I try to stay composed enough to talk to him, even though my face is still buried in the white fabric that covers him. “I miss you.”

His voice softens a little as he says, “I know. I was… so angry with myself for leaving you, your siblings, and Mom behind, but… I know that you’re in good hands.”

I finally loosen my grip around him and lean back a bit to look up at him. “Who? Fiyr?”

He laughs a little and shakes his head.

“Brakken?”

“No, Cindra,” he says, stifling a laugh, and smiling down at me. “I meant _you_. You’re braver than you think, and you’ve saved your own skin more than a few times. I know that you’ve got enough of a survival instinct to keep yourself around for a long time.”

“Really?” For a moment, I’m too overcome to even remember my fears from earlier. When I do, I realize _I’m not being judged by some unfeeling ancestor that I know nothing about. It’s my own father, and he loves me._

“You know how to protect yourself,” he says, and then lifts his hand to cradle my head and gently presses his thumb to the centre of my forehead, where I touched it to the Lunar Crystal. “And you’re learning how to heal others. I couldn’t be more proud. I hope you know that. My girl. I’m always with you.”

“Don’t go just yet,” I plead, but he just smiles again, framed with golden light, and then the light expands until I can’t see him anymore, and there’s nothing in my arms.

“I’m not gone,” is the last thing I hear him say, and then everything is dark.

I feel a tear slip out from under my eyelashes as I try to stay in the warmth of my father for just one more moment… and then I feel the air around me change.

My skin cools a little, and when I open my eyes I see that I’m no longer under the sun. Instead, I feel moisture on my skin— _mist?_ —and I can hear the ripple of lapping waves. I open my eyes to near-darkness.

I’m in a cavern; deep underground, I would have to guess, since the only light source is a diaphanous blue glow emitted by the strange moss that crowds around my feet and up the wall. I’m standing on the shore of an underground reservoir, whose craggy roof of grayish-brown stone rises far above into shadows. I can hear water dripping from somewhere and echoing through the cave. Behind me, I see layers of stone that form a natural staircase, up into a gloomy tunnel, all lit by the same oddly-blue moss.

At first glance, I thought it was completely natural; the uneven pattern of the stone, the way the moss leaves some crevices shrouded in darkness and others lit, and the way the tunnel curves away from my eyesight to disappear from view. But when I look closer at my surroundings, I begin to take note of how the floor is swept clean, the stalactites that hang above the water all shaped to perfect points and wrapped in some kind of metal thread that catches the light of the moss as the water shifts, and how the stairs are all even and unbroken. _Inhabited. But not by people…_

The water sloshes, suddenly, louder than before, and when I look back at the reservoir, I see the surface rippling. A blue flash from under the water, and then a form rises from it. I take a step back, suddenly fearful of what could be erupting out of the water, but relax a moment later when I see that it’s a human form.

Mostly, at least. Her skin is blue in the light, and what I realize after a moment are her trailing sleeves look like webbed hands. She moves closer to shore, her white dress trailing heavily in the water. As she nears me, I recognize her. I’m stunned out of words to see her in front of me again, but she smiles lightly when recognition crosses my face.

She steps out of the water, her pale foot bare, and I look Silaverre up and down. Her soaked dress clings to her body, white for the dead, and her hair hangs in wet ringlets all around her shoulders, glistening like spun silver.

I can’t help staring at her face, trying to commit it to memory. _The first to die in my care…_ Buried pain rises. I remember her face, sweaty and flushed, on the bed in the inn. Looking at her now, I don’t know if my memory is faulty or if I’m imagining it, but I see the faintest differences in her now. Her eyes are rounder, pupils black as deep water and her irises, steely blue in my memory, shift with green rings as if the sun through water is changing its colour.

Her face, too is a little sharper, her beauty more exact, as if someone drew back the curves of her cheeks and forehead into slanted lines. I know it’s her, all the same, though.

“Lady Strime,” I murmur.

She smiles, and I feel something crumble inside me. I’m back in that helpless trap, desperate to know what to do to help her, and finding nothing.

“Cindra.”

I open and close my mouth, lost, then finally say, “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t need my forgiveness. You did what you could, and I see now… it was my time. Perhaps I haven’t been in the Starlaxi for long enough,” she pauses and her lips quirk, “but it still doesn’t feel quite fair. I didn’t want to go, and I know the path ahead for my children will be difficult.”

I dip my head, acknowledging it at as true, and can’t help feeling like it’s, at least in part, my fault.

“No.” It’s as if she can see into my head. She waves one hand, an arc of droplets flying off her sleeve. “You saved two lives. You’re the reason my children have any future at all.”

I swallow hard and try to believe her.

“I knew my love was hopeless,” she admits. “That it could only end in sorrow. But it was worth it. Would you… tell Graie that I love him? And that I love the names he chose?”

I blink. _He’s named them already? But they haven’t demonstrated. What did he name them for?_ But if Graie hasn’t told the court, then it must not be for us to know just yet. “I will. I’m sorry you didn’t have longer, even if it was my fault… I’m just… sorry.”

She regards me, blinking those enormous blue-green eyes slowly, then finally says, “You know a hopeless love, too.”

_I guess she really can see into my head._ “Yeah. I do.”

“Hm,” she murmurs, and then turns back to the water that she came from. “I love this place. Perhaps because of my—well, there are some secrets that you’re not meant to know until you reach the Starlaxi,” she says, giving me a half-amused look. “I think it can help you.”

_What? How is an underground lake going to help me?_

“What do you mean?” I step forward to join her at the edge of the water. “Help me with what?”

She looks up, and then reaches out to touch a low-hanging stalactite. When her finger brushes the metal threads that wrap around it, they come alight like a thousand little glowing fireflies in the darkness of the cave. It combats the blue glow until the ambient light is closer to yellow.

The water reflects it, the surface turning golden, and Silaverre waves her hand over it.

“This is where we come to know truths,” she tells me. “It answers questions with the truth that it sees reflected in the world. It’s… kind of frustratingly cryptic sometimes. But the meaning will be clear when you need it.”

I stare into it, hardly able to believe what she’s telling me. “So you can ask it questions? How? Do you have to say them aloud?”

“No. Think of your question and then wade into the water. When your reflection disappears, you’ll see the truth,” she says.

I blink. “And how is this supposed to help me?”

“Well, you found me, and it’s your novitiate ceremony,” Silaverre says, tilting her head thoughtfully. “I think I can help you let go of the last anchors that keep you from your destiny as a novitiate and a healer.”

_The last anchors…?_ But I think I know what she’s talking about. “Right.” I take a step into the water.

_Am I going to love him forever?_

I’m not even sure that’s the right question, but I take another step, feeling out in front of me with the sole of my foot to make sure the stone floor doesn’t drop off suddenly. The water ripples, lapping at my ankles, and I take a deep breath. _Here we go._

_Was it a squirehood crush?_

It never felt like that. But I guess it’s hard to tell whether it’s a crush or not in the moment. I walk further into the cave, the water swaying around me until I’m almost waist deep. I look down into the golden surface of the water, but I can still see my own nervous face looking back at me, distorted by the movement of it.

_Do I really love him?_

I take another step, and then the surface begins to brighten, whiter and whiter until I can’t see my face. I stop and wait, watching the water and waiting for it to change. The water is frigid against my skin, but somehow I don’t feel cold.

And then the water stills.

I peer into it, seeing shapes shift under the water, red and green and pale pink and brown, but I can’t make them out. _Well, that’s not very helpful._ I squint but they don’t clear up. _Maybe…_

I suck in a breath, try not to think about the rope bridge, and then plunge myself underwater, eyes squeezed shut. I feel my clothes soak and my hair float up off my face, but I’m not afraid. _I guess this is a dream,_ I remember. _I don’t need to breathe._

The water is still, so different from the chaos and terror of the flooded gorge, and the memory finally subsides.

I open my eyes.

I’m still underwater, I think, because I can feel it on my skin and my legs are still half-folded under me, kneeling on the stone floor. But in front of me, I can see shapes floating, almost visible in the crystal clear water. _It looked murky from above…_ I blink, trying to make out the images, and then realize what I’m looking at.

It’s Fiyr, kneeling on the floor of the reservoir and looking at me, smiling. My heart twists and I think I know what it’s telling me. _Even now. After taking an oath and entering the temple and seeing my father even though he’s gone…_ I thought it meant I was accepted by the Starlaxi. I thought it meant he didn’t matter to me anymore.

I duck my head, feeling a sob bubble up in my throat. _Is this forever?_

I hear the water ripple again, suddenly, and I open my eyes, blinking. Fiyr is still there, still smiling, but a shape is forming next to him.

_Clowd?_ He smiles too, looking a little mischievous, and I return it, feeling suddenly hopeful. _Well, I’m not in love with him, so this must mean something else._ Another form appears; Brakken, to the right of Fiyr. He gives me a little wave. _Ah._ I think I understand what I’m seeing.

As more people appear, my theory seems to be confirmed. _Samn, the queen, Faern, Father, Briatte, Thorrin, Mother…_ Finally, there’s a group of Thundrians all kneeling in front of me and looking at me with love in their eyes.

_The people I love._ Fiyr is there, yes, but he’s surrounded by so many others… _It doesn’t really matter, does it? Even if I do love him. It doesn’t have to be my whole life._ I look at Clowd. _He’ll need my help as he grows up and gains control over his god-magic._ I shift my gaze to Brakken. _And he’s a new knight. I’m sure he’ll be getting into all sorts of scrapes that he’ll need healing for._

All these people, all important to me… I close my eyes again, and stand. When my head breaks the surface of the water, I feel my hair and clothes dry almost immediately. The stalactites and their glowing metal have dimmed, turning the cave an iridescent blue once more. Silaverre is watching me from the shore.

I wade back toward the flat stone on the water’s edge and stop when I reach it, waiting the couple seconds it takes for my clothes to dry.

“Did you find what you needed?” she asks.

“I think so.”

She nods, and doesn’t ask, which I’m grateful for. Her gaze shifts, looking past me at the water, and then she steps toward me.

“Do you remember what I asked you to tell Graie?” she asks, eyes searching my face.

“Yes,” I say.

“Good. I don’t know if you can bring memories from this place to the real world, but… I hope that whatever you’ve learned from the water will help you,” she says. “It’s time to wake up now. I never thought I’d be proud of a Thundrian novitiate.”

I snort. “And I didn’t expect to be met with a Rivien knight in my super-important-dream-from-the-Starlaxi.”

She smiles. I feel an odd connection with her, knowing that we both felt this hopeless love… and in the end, we both lost. _But I still have decades ahead of me and more loves than just a one-sided romantic one._ I feel a pang of pain and loss for what was taken from Silaverre. _I hope she can find peace here._

“Goodbye,” she says.

“Goodbye.”

She reaches out and touches my forehead gently with her forefinger. I close my eyes as the sound of dripping water fades, the blue glow dims into pale nothingness, and finally, Silaverre’s presence vanishes.


	25. Chapter 24 - Cindra

Chapter 24 - Cindra

In the week after the equinox, I feel the events that were lodged deep in my heart dull to burdens. I don’t know if it was the Starlaxi or just a natural healing process, but one by one, Silaverre’s death softens in my memory, the edges blurring until it’s painful, yes, but no longer soul-crushing; Sir Cawle’s attack, so like Sir Fiace’s from almost a decade ago, feels less immediate and panic-inducing, fading into an ugly dream.

Each loosens, loses its grip on me, until I feel like I can breathe again in the dark; until I don’t see Silaverre’s red cheeks, wide eyes when I close mine.

I slip into old routines, ones from before things started going to shit, and little by little, it feels like things are going back to normal. Not exactly to how it was before—I know that every mark left on me isn’t just going to fade in a week, or even a year—but back to a manageable place.

I’m just wiping down the rim of a jar of salve with a boiled rag and sealing it tightly when Clowd bursts into the healer’s wing in his usual dramatic fashion.

“I’m in need of medical attention!” he announces.

I exchange a glance with Lady Fennen, who’s sitting at her desk and finally organizing the stray papers that cover it, then look back at Clowd.

“Really? What happened?” I ask.

He limps over and then twists around to show me the back of his leg where one leg of his white pants is torn open from the knee to half-way up his thigh, revealing a long, shallow cut on the pale skin underneath.

“Ooh,” I tut sympathetically. “You may not survive.”

“Don’t make a joke of my _plight!_ ” he exclaims. “I’m in undescribable pain.”

“Indescribable,” I correct, squatting to properly assess the cut.

“What?”

“Forget it.” I stand. “Okay, how did this happen?’

He turns around again, all in a huff, and says, “Fiyr tried to cut me open!”

_From the knee?_ “I highly doubt that.”

“That’s not true!” Fiyr’s voice rings from the entrance to the healer’s wing and then the knight himself appears, sweat glittering on his brow and _Fireheart_ bobbing at his side. “We were sparring and he fell on a rock.”

“Yeah, isn’t that what I said?” Clowd bats his eyes innocently at his mentor as Fiyr comes over to us and I start cleaning the cut with a fresh cloth.

I hide my smile as I toss the cloth aside and listen to Clowd and Fiyr bicker. After my super-awkward confession last week, I was worried things were going to be really weird between Fiyr and I. And… they are, kind of, but it’s easier with a buffer like Clowd around. _It’s amazing what you can adjust to._

Including blue blood.

Yes, among Clowd’s other bizarre traits inherited from his father, Clowd bleeds blue. The first time he came to the healer’s wing with a skinned knee and bluish spots gathering, I was sure he had some kind of incurable disease, but Lady Fennen figured out what was going on pretty fast. And like I said; it’s amazing what you can adjust to. Soon enough, I just started wiping away the blood like any other injury and patching him up. Aside from Brindellia rushing in to demand what had happened to him when she saw the blue-stained bandages, nothing’s come of it. The rest of him behaves as normal, at least for now. I haven’t shared my concerns with Lady Fennen about what puberty’s gonna mean for a half-god, but I suspect she has the same apprehension.

“Alright, Clowd, go sit on the bed over there,” I direct him and go get another clean cloth, dropping the other in the sink in Lady Fennen’s private quarters. “Put your leg up.”

I return with a new wet cloth and grimace when I see that his cut has dripped on the bed. _Well, more laundry for him to do later._ There seems to be no end of laundry duty for Clowd; he’s always getting into some kind of mishap that Fiyr sends him off to wash clothes as penance for.

As Clowd pulls his leg up onto the rail of the cot as I direct him, I press the cloth against the cut and wait for it to stop bleeding.

“I did tell you to pick up the stones and sticks before we started sparring,” Fiyr reminds his nephew.

“I guess I missed it.” Clowd shrugs. “You were the one who shoved me into the dirt!”

“We were practicing swords versus unarmed strikes!” Fiyr exclaims. “I _told_ you I was going to do it. Also, that rock was enormous. We need Lady Fennen to check your eyes again if you missed it.”

Clowd gives his usual shrug and I pull the cloth away, examining the cut a little better now that the cobalt blood isn’t smeared around it. He’s going to need to get his pants washed and patched, and probably won’t be able to spar again until it heals up, but nothing permanent.

“I’ll get you a bandage, and then you can go,” I tell him, ambling into the back room as he and Fiyr begin to argue again.

_Don’t know what the queen was thinking when she matched them up_ , I think to myself. _I don’t think I’ve heard either of them say a word without the other countering it and starting another ‘discussion’._ Clowd is… _argumentative_ , to say the least, and Fiyr can hardly help himself from getting dragged into it. _Even_ I _learned quickly enough when Thorrin got to the age where he started making smart replies to everything anyone ever said that sometimes it’s better to just ignore them_.

I return with the bandage and tune out Fiyr and Clowd’s bickering as I lay it diagonally, right over the cut, and seal it against his skin. “Alright Clowd, you’re good to go.”

“I may yet live,” he gasps, shooting me a mischievous look. Despite his disagreeableness when it comes to his uncle, I can’t help a snort at his antics.

“‘Twas a near thing,” I agree, and give Fiyr a little pitying wave as they leave.

When they’re gone, I turn to share another eyeroll with Lady Fennen, but she’s looking more serious.

“Cindra. Come sit with me,” she says, motioning to the chair on the other side of her desk.

I’m a little concerned by her expression, but sit nonetheless and wait for her words.

“I’ve called a meeting with the queen,” she rasps. “There are thing… Thundria’s leaders must discuss.”

I blink. “Okay? What does that have to…”

“You’re going to be a part of it,” she informs me.

_What? But I’m a kid!_ I catch myself. _No, I’m not. Not anymore. I’m eighteen, I’ve been through my novitiate ceremony… I would’ve been made a knight months ago. Still, though…_ “I’m not a leader of Thundria.”

“I am,” she responds. “And you are learning to replace me, one day. This is important for you to hear.”

I’m a little stricken by the request, but the more I think about it, the more I find her logic sound. _I guess whatever’s going on… I’m going to be expected to know about. I’m going to be the only healer, one day, if I don’t get killed somehow._

“If it helps, Samn will be there too,” Lady Fennen adds.

_Oh, great._ After what I told Fiyr before my ceremony, and honestly… even before that, I’ve felt a little uncomfortable around her. _But that’s all laid to rest, so I guess it’s time to start getting along with her._ “What’s the meeting going to be about?”

“Mm.” She nods like she expected this question, but doesn’t answer. “I will show you something.”

She ducks behind her desk, rummaging in one of the drawers, and then retrieves an enormous, dusty book. _Tome_ would be a more accurate word, actually. It has no title and hardly any cover decoration, just a small carving in the gray-brown leather that reveals faded yellow fabric under it, shaped into Thundria’s emblem.

“Is that…”

“Yes.” Lady Fennen carefully slips the worn ribbon out from the spine and lifts the book’s cover, carrying a few pages with it. When she flips it open, we’ve hardly made it halfway into the book. The paper is yellowed and a little uneven at the edges, but further from the edges turns white as fresh milk.

It’s almost completely blank. In the middle, in an elegant, looping script that I recognize from somewhere, is written _Solo el fuego salvará nuestro reino_. I stare at it, not quite sure what I’m looking at, but my brain is already rushing ahead to pick it apart and translate it for me. _Fire alone can save our kingdom._

“What… does it mean?” I can’t look away from those words, hypnotized by the sight of something I’d thought I wouldn’t see for years; until I was a full healer and wrinkly, at least. _The book of prophecies…_

“The queen is unsure,” Lady Fennen rasps. “Lady Lief believed it was speaking of Fiyr.”

_Well, of course._ That’s where my mind jumped first, too. _A god-toy shows up with impossible life-force, and_ fire _to boot? Who wouldn’t assume it’s about him?_ Although, the mention of Lady Lief makes another piece click into place. _That’s her handwriting._ I can’t help being a little unnerved looking at it. _She wrote this… how many years ago? Six? Eight? And she couldn’t have known…_

“And what do you think?” I ask, finally tearing my eyes away from the page.

“I… am unsure as well,” Lady Fennen says, although the glint in her eye makes me wonder if that’s completely true. “The queen named Fiyr, and yet is oddly hesitant to accept him as the subject. She is closest to the Starlaxi, apart from me, and she knows Thundria better than I do. I trust her judgement in this matter.”

_But why does the queen think that Fiyr isn’t the one the Starlaxi is talking about when they say that_ fire _is going to save our kingdom?_ I wonder. _That seems about as on-the-nose as you could possibly be._

“Why do you want to speak with the queen, then?” I ask.

“She has made Samn the captain,” Lady Fennen says, a somber look crossing her face. “A woman hardly out of squirehood, who half the court doesn’t trust after her little reveal, who hasn’t trained a squire to knighthood, and did it after midnight. She is toeing the line of the code, and there is something wrong. I need to know what it is.”

I nod, feeling her dark mood settle on me, too. _Yeah. I’ve noticed it too._ The queen wasn’t exactly… _warm_ , at the best of times, but these days she hardly shows her face. I don’t know how long it’s been since she left the castle, or ate with the court, or, judging by the dark circles beneath her eyes when she does make an appearance, _slept_. Another thing that’s changed after visiting the Starlaxi to be properly initiated is that I can see a faint ball of light glowing in front of her forehead’s star. It’s no larger than a cinder, but it shimmers with the light of the Starlaxi, and though Lady Fennen never needed to say a word, I know that it’s her last Blessing, working to keep her alive.

“Let’s go,” Lady Fennen says, rising.

“Right now?” I scramble to my feet.

“I said I wanted to speak with her today, and Samn will have had time to send out the mid-afternoon patrols,” she answers, already half-way across the wing.

I hurry after her, mind whirling. _I haven’t even had time to digest this! What if they ask my opinion? I don’t know if Fiyr is going to save the kingdom! I know he and Samn were kind of behind the whole ‘exposing Sir Cawle’ thing. Was that the prophecy? Is it_ finished _, then?_ But it doesn’t exactly feel like we have peace with the other courts.

I know Braukkin’s dead, but Wynnd and Shodawa don’t; when are they next going to be beating down our doors for a dead man? And when is Rivier going to come knocking again to get Graie’s children? The queen told them she’d have an answer at the winter solstice, but are they going to wait that long?

There’s no time to have a full meltdown over the state of affairs though, because Lady Fennen is already out the doors. I run after her and follow her all the way to the queen’s private chambers. She doesn’t even knock to announce herself, just strides right in, staff in hand like a weapon. I follow her nervously into the dimly lit room.

Despite the daylight that filters into the other rooms of the castle, the queen’s private chambers have no windows, and are lit only by the flickering orange light of torches. The queen’s desk is as messy as Lady Fennen’s, but neither she nor Samn take note of it as they continue their heated discussion, heedless of our entrance.

“I told you, we don’t need—” Samn cuts herself off, finally noticing me and Lady Fennen in the doorway. “Excuse me. Lady Fennen, Cindra.”

She stands and offers us the two chairs across from the queen. I’m a little uncomfortable, but when Lady Fennen sits, I do too. Samn looms ominously over our shoulders.

“You called this meeting because of the prophecy, yes?” the queen asks, sounding exhausted and rubbing her temples.

The torchlight makes it hard to make out much besides the broad strokes of her face, but I see a pallor there that makes me think she hasn’t eaten or slept properly in quite a while. I feel an ache of worry for her, but her fierce gaze stays on Lady Fennen.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lady Fennen rasps, and I’m struck all of a sudden by how similar they seem.

Years ago, I would have said they couldn’t be more different. Lady Fennen is all jagged edges and dark eyes, while the queen is polished and poised at all times. But not anymore, is she? Her hair has come unbound, still uneven, and sprawls over her shoulders in a gray, frizzy mass rivalling Lady Fennen’s mane. I see a familiar flintiness in the queen’s gaze, like she has something to protect.

“What is there to discuss?” the queen half-growls. This conversation has her hackles up; why, I can’t guess.

Lady Fennen looks at Samn, then with an apparent gathering of resolve, turns back to the queen. “Why have you made her captain?”

I watch Samn, trying to detect any kind of reaction, but her face is unmoving in the torchlight, impassive. _I would be hurt,_ I think. Samn almost seems to already know Lady Fennen’s words, though.

“Because it is the right path for Thundria,” the queen says.

“And the prophecy…?” More challenge rises in Lady Fennen’s voice as the queen brushes her off.

The queen levels a cool gaze at Lady Fennen and I shift in my seat. “The prophecy will take care of itself. The Starlaxi has never troubled itself with an individual’s decisions when it comes to resolving them.”

I see shadows fall over Lady Fennen’s jaw as it tightens. “Why Samn? Why not someone the court trusts more? Sir Strommer, Lady Fuor?”

The queen shakes her head once, decisively. A bundle of knotted hair drops off her shoulder and hangs in front of her. “My Blessings ebb. I have no more given power than an ordinary knight, and I am no longer choosing the captain, I am choosing the next monarch. And neither of them will rule.”

I’m chilled at her frank discussion of her own death, and finally, Samn seems to break her cold front. “What? Your Majesty, you’re not…”

She waves her hand, silencing her. “I am. Not for a while yet, no, the crown lingers heavily on my head… but one day, Samn, one day you will be queen.”

The words fall with the certainty of a prophecy and I feel gooseflesh raise on my arms. _Truly…? But surely she’s just started on her last Blessing. Won’t this one last? Then again, Samn’s pretty young. Unless a dragon picks her off, she’s going to be captain for next decades._ And Queen Bluelianna doesn’t have decades. _Am I looking at the next queen?_ She looks equally off-kilter.

“What about the prophecy?” Samn asks.

“The prophecy will take care of itself,” the queen repeats, and I notice an odd glow in her eyes.

_Fire alone can save our kingdom… Why is she so sure that Fiyr isn’t that ‘fire?’ Does she know of another meaning for it? Or does she think it’s him and that it isn’t his destiny to lead? I guess he and Samn won’t have any trouble working in tandem if she leads the court and he saves them._ I’m pleased to not feel the old stab of resentment at the thought.

“I’m worried,” Lady Fennen admits after a long silence. I wonder what point we’re at where she’s willing to admit that.

“Have faith,” the queen chides, and though it should be soothing reminder from a queen to her healer, I can’t help feeling like the twist in the queen’s lips is a curl, the emphasis on _faith_ is meant as an insult… and that she doesn’t really mean it at all.

Feeling thoroughly unsettled, I stand abruptly, clutching my cane for support.

“If that’s everything?” I ask, already trying to backpedal toward the door.

“We’ll speak again soon,” Lady Fennen murmurs to the queen.

“Uh—Cindra—” Samn interrupts me just as I’m trying to duck back into the throne room.

I pause, then we both step back out into proper light. I blink as my eyes adjust.

“I wanted to… ask about something,” she says, voice stuttering like she’s embarrassed about the ‘something.’

I can’t help an eyebrow raising, but I gesture for her to continue.

“Can we… go to the healer’s wing?”

_Curiouser and curiouser._ “Sure.”

She leads the way and we cross the throne room into the wing. Samn beelines for the back, then begins to almost pace, back and forth.

“Do you want to sit…?” I offer.

“No—I’ll—that’s alright.” She flicks her hand, still doing that odd back-and-forth movement, somewhere between a fidget and pacing. 

“What is it, then?” I ask when she doesn’t speak for another few moments.

“I…” Her jaw works as she pauses, but I can see that she’s picking out her words and I don’t rush her along. Finally she says, “What has Lady Fennen taught you about switch-souls?”

_What?_ I had no idea what this impromptu meeting was about when Samn pulled me aside, but if I had to make a list of potential subjects, this would not be on it. “Uh… what do you mean?” I stall as I try to figure out her end goal.

She fiddles with life-force ring as she says, “Like… describe to me how you would know if someone is a switch-soul.”

_Is she quizzing me?_ “Well, switch-souls are often people who feel uncomfortable in the body they were born with, and wish they had a different body, but sometimes they’re just people who feel more comfortable when people address them with the other pronouns and titles. Like if Sir Wynnd didn’t want to wear pants and wanted to be called Lady Wynnd and stuff. I mean, it’s a bit more complicated, but…”

Samn hardly seems to be listening at all.

“What in the Blacklands is this about?” I demand, irritable that she isn’t even paying attention.

She snaps to attention. “Sorry! Continue?”  
“No! Not until you tell me what you’re getting at,” I order her.

She flinches, then looks down at her hands, then finally back up at me. “I don’t think I’m a woman.”

_Ohhhh!_ It finally falls into place. _Blessed Starlaxi, Cindra, how stupid do you have to be? Some healer. Samn’s asking for information about switch-souls because she is one. Or he is one._ “Oh,” I say. “I see.”

Samn is still staring at me urgently as I reflect on this revelation. _Wow. So I guess when Sir Tayle and Lady Faise raised Samn as a boy, they had the right idea. I wonder if that had an affect on this._ It’s an odd thing to think about, looking at _him_ now. _How did he realize? What does it feel like?_

“Sir Schorme?” I test out.

A tension eases between Samn’s shoulders, and my healer brain immediately pounces on it as proof. _More comfortable with masculine titles!_ “So you’re a man?”

Samn grits his teeth. “Not exactly.”

“Huh?”

“I… is it possible to not… be either of them?”

I blink, completely perplexed. “Wh… I don’t think so. You’re either born a woman or a man, and then sometimes people’s souls were… switched. That’s why it’s called that.”

Samn frowns. “I was worried you’d say that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a man. And I’m not a woman,” Samn explains, his tone taking on a tone of certainty. “I’m… both. Kind of. I don’t know, I really don’t know how to explain this but… my skin crawls when people call me ‘Lady Schorme’. And I can’t stand dresses, so I thought I was a switch-soul!”

I nod. _Okay…? Why isn’t he just a man then?_

“But that’s not exactly it,” he says, shaking his head—shaking her head. “I _am_ a _woman_ or whatever. It’s not easy, but it’s still a part of me, you know?”

I blink at her, completely out of my depth. _Can she tell that I have no idea what in the Blacklands she’s talking about?_

“How do you know you’re a girl?” Samn asks.

“How do I know I’m… what? I don’t know. I don’t have some secret love of flower-arranging in my soul, if that’s what you’re asking. I just… am, I guess.” I shrug. “How does anyone know?”

He shakes his head. “But that’s just it! I just _am_. And sometimes that ‘am’ is a man and sometimes it’s a woman. And sometimes I’m just angry.”

“This… I have no idea,” I admit freely. _I’m angry too, but I’m pretty sure I’m not a dude._ “Lady Fennen hardly told me anything about switch-souls, this is more complex stuff. Maybe talk to her.”

Samn frowns. “I don’t want some old lady asking me if I wish I had a dick.”

A bout of shocked laughter escapes me and I finally ask, “Do you?”

Samn shrugs. “Sometimes. Doesn’t everyone?”

“ _No!_ ” I exclaim, still trying to contain my hysterical giggles. “I really don’t think that’s a universal experience! Look, I don’t know enough about switch-souls to know if you’re a man or woman or someone else entirely, but… can I help you? Do you need something to change in the short-term?”

She glances around, looking uncomfortable. “I mean… I wish _some_ people would stop calling me Lady Schorme, but I can bear it.”

I make a face. “You shouldn’t really _have_ to ‘bear it’ though. If ‘sir’ makes you more comfortable, I don’t see why people can’t just switch. Half the court gets ‘sir,’ why shouldn’t you?”

“How about ‘captain?’” Samn suggests, a glint in his eyes.

I snort. “That sounds ancient, though, no one calls captains ‘Captain Whatever’ anymore.”

She shrugs. “We could bring it back.”

“Have you told Fiyr about all this?” I eventually ask. _I wonder what he’d think._

Samn shakes her head. “Not yet. I… I’m a little worried about what he’d say.”

“Worried?” I echo. “Why?”

Finally, Samn sits down next to me and tucks her arms under her shoulders like a self-hug. “I dunno, it’s just… kind of weird. I mean, some people like girls and some people like boys. Whoever heard of liking a person who’s are both at once?”

“Some people like girls _and_ boys,” I remind her. “And if my memory isn’t faulty, he was still a moony-eyed over you before your ceremony.” Thinking about that time is a little too close to bitterly reflecting though. I keep my tone light.

She half-smiles. “That’s true. But it’s not the same, is it?”

As much as it resurrects the old ache that I thought I’d finally buried, I press past it for Samn’s sake. “He loved you when you were a boy, and he loved you when you were a girl. I hardly think that revealing you’re some kind of mix of both is suddenly going to send him running.”

“I guess you’re right,” he agrees. “Huh. When’d you get so wise?”

“Don’t start,” I groan and stand up. “Now get lost, I have work to do.”

“What, you and Lady Fennen gonna plan my downfall?” Samn asks, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Oh, blessed Starlaxi.” I slap my forehead. “I don’t know what she was on about. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Samn answers, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’m sure Lady Fennen’s just worried about Thundria.”

_And the queen…_ “Right. You’re a great captain.”

“I’ve been captain for a week,” she reminds me.

“Captain Schorme.” I give him a little mock bow, then catch myself. _He and she. Hmm. I guess it’s easy to slip back into old habits._ Samn’s hair has grown out a little, maybe, and his chest isn’t squashed flat, but he’s hardly transformed into a little doll. _She still looks like a boy, and he still looks like a girl._

“I’ll see you later. Thank you for your help. Seriously.”

“S’my job,” I say, and watch her go. _Huh._ For all the uncomfortable, awkward sadness that trying to bury my feelings for Fiyr has brought me, it’s granted an unexpected boon. _I guess I don’t have to be all snotty toward Samn anymore. Well, huzzah, we’ll be best friends in no time._

Then again, if the queen’s unsettling prediction comes true… _I’ll be the healer to her queen. Or his king._ I can just imagine it. Samn, ten years older, a crown on her head and a glowing star in his forehead, with some fancy sword and swathed in ceremonial robes.

Me, wizened, clutching my staff and beating my poor, young novitiate over the head with a stick for mixing up ginger and garlic. I suppress a laugh. _Samn and Fiyr with children gamboling at their feet._ The thought doesn’t raise the same dreary sadness that it might have a month ago. _Huh. Maybe I’m starting to get over him at long last. I’m sure he’d have cute kids, and I could be like a second mom to their kids. Or first mother, and they’ll have two fathers. Or a cool older sister. Samn will be busy enough with running the kingdom, and I guess Fiyr is supposed to_ save _it according to Lady Fennen._

“What are you thinking about?” Lady Fennen rasps, suddenly appearing in front of me.

“Uh… nothing,” I say. She seems intent on something else and doesn’t press the issue.

“Walk with me,” she says, tossing me a cloak that she seems to produce from thin air.

“Wha—alright…?” I unroll the cloak and then sweep it around my shoulders, fastening it at my collar. Lady Fennen’s face betrays nothing when I search it. All I can detect is the way her lips press down at either edge of her mouth like she’s upset, but that really might just be how her face is at rest.

She ushers me out of the healer’s wing and then out of the throne room, through the front door and into the cool air. It’s getting near the evening, and whatever warmth noon provided has long since fled. I nestle deeper into my cloak as Lady Fennen steers us toward the break in the leaves. She climbs down the ladder, slow and awkward with her gloved hands and old body. I follow her after a moment, wishing that whoever had used their Blessing to create the patch of leaves that transports us to the forest floor had had the foresight to make it work for people on foot. An icy breeze gusts through the treetops, rustling the dead leaves that still cling to their branches. _Maybe it’s part of some deeper lesson about the importance of using your own abilities and not relying on your monarch… ugh, I don’t know._

Everything seems to be wrapped in double-meanings these days. Prophecies and cryptic dreams and visions… _What’s the use? Why doesn’t the Starlaxi speak plainly?_

When we reach the forest floor, I hear the crunch of frost under my boots. _Is it already so close to winter?_ It’s a reminder of the coming winter solstice. _When the queen must give her answer…_ _Or Graie’s answer._ My heart aches. _How can he choose?_ I don’t even want to imagine what I’d do if it were me. _Guess that’s one bonus of being a healer._

“Come,” Lady Fennen rasps, hunching over and beginning her path through the trees with her staff in hand. She immediately deviates from the main road and pushes her way through a thick juniper bush. I follow her, yanking my cloak to free it from the grip of branches, and wonder what she’s up to.

_Where are we going? Maybe I should ask her about switch-souls on Samn’s behalf._ But Lady Fennen walks with such a purpose that I get the sense she has her own agenda.

“What do you know of the queen’s life-force?” is what she asks when she finally speaks again.

_What in the name of the Starlaxi…?_ “What are you _talking_ about?” _The unofficial winter holiday: Say weird confusing shit to Cindra for your own amusement._

“I asked you, what do you know of the queen’s life-force?” Lady Fennen repeats, not turning around and instead forging ahead through the bushes, leaving me to ponder her questions.

I step over a creek, hiking up my cloak and dress to avoid dipping the hems in the water, then answer, “I dunno. She’s an ice elementalist and she has the Blessings.”  
“Mm,” Lady Fennen rumbles. “And how do you know when someone is an elementalist or no?”

“Elementalists are people who can create… elements,” I answer. _Should’ve told me we were having a quiz._ “People who can use the traits of those elements, sometimes, but that’s hard to do. So… if they can do that.”

“ _You_ are an elementalist,” she says, not asking for confirmation before continuing. “How do you know? Do you feel differently than I do, as an alchemist?”

“How should I know? I don’t know what it’s like to be you.” _This is the same as the gender thing! I can’t exactly look into other people’s heads to know how they feel their own life-force. Then again, you can’t change your life-force._  
“No,” Lady Fennen agrees. “You do not. But you think the queen feels her own life-force the way that you do?”

I shrug. “I don’t know that either. I guess so.”

She _hmm_ s. “Can you tell the difference between the traces of an elementalist and an alchemist? Or a summoner, for that matter?”

I ignore her, this time, fed up with the nonsensical line of questioning. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere,” she answers. “We’re here.”

And she stops. We’re standing in a part of the forest where the trees grow further apart, on flatter land. A light smattering of leaf litter carpets the earth under our boots, and tufts of wheatgrass grow thickly in the roots of elms and beeches, but the ground is mostly clear, just frost-crusted dirt and dust.

Clear, save for a small garden directly in front of us. It’s demarcated by a tiny wooden fence, no higher than my knee, and the soil enclosed is darker and richer than the dusty, hard-packed dirt around us. All manner of plants grow in neat little lines of eight, stretching off to our left, mostly drooping or half-dead; flowers hang their heads and leaves crinkle in the wind.

Lady Fennen mutters a curse as she holds up the stem of some plant whose leaves have evidently been removed by something’s teeth. “That damn groundhog.”

“What is this place?” I step carefully around the perimeter of the garden, recognizing the plants as I go. They’re mostly dying back down to the earth, ready to fertilize it anew after winter, but my healer brain names them, noting their petals, stems, roots, and remembering different treatments and uses.

“My garden,” Lady Fennen says as if it should be obvious, then leaves the edge of it for a moment, bending over by the base of a thick-trunked tree. I can’t quite see what she’s doing, but when she turns around she has a small spade in one hand and a pair of clippers in the other. _Where in the Blacklands did she pull those from?_ “We’re going to weed.”

“It’s freezing cold! And the plants are almost dead, anyway,” I protest.

“It’s important.”

_Damn it, is this another secret moral lesson hiding in layers of obfuscation?_ Irritation spikes through me. “Why did you drag me out here?”

“To weed.”

Letting out a growl of annoyance, I snatch the spade from her offering hand and bend down, grabbing the wooden stalk of some errant plant.

“Not that one,” Lady Fennen corrects me. “The low-growing green ones.”

“That’ll take ages!” I protest, surveying the garden and noting the green sprouts littered across the entire enclosed area.

“We have time.”

I want to toss down the spade and storm off back to the castle, but I think we might be lost and after the day she’s had, I don’t want to try Lady Fennen’s patience. So I start weeding. After a few minutes, I begin to get into the rhythm of it; grab, stick in the spade, yank, toss, repeat.

“You are worried,” Lady Fennen says eventually, leaning back from her own work with the clippers.

I roll back on my knees and wipe a droplet of sweat that’s been snaking down my cheek for the past minute. A slight tickly itch on my cheek makes me think I probably just smeared a bunch of dust over it. “Yeah. I am, aren’t you?”

She closes her eyes, then drops her chin a little. “Yes. Storms are gathering for Thundria.”  
My patience finally runs through my fingers like the last grains of sand in an hourglass. “Why do you say that?! Why do you say ‘storms are gathering?’ What’s the point? Why not just say ‘we’re all fucked?’ What’s wrong with that?”  
Lady Fennen, far from biting my heads off, lets out a little raspy laugh. I try not to be distracted by how she looks almost proud. “Ah. I think I said exactly that at some point, a long time ago. But I’ll give you the answer I didn’t get. It’s not so scary to say that storms are coming, because we have survived them. We secure the windows, we keep the children in doors, we plan meals and light fires. We say it to remind ourselves we have control.”

I frown. _And what if we_ don’t _have control?_ “Why do you have a garden?” I change the subject, not wanting to get more vague answers that would work me up into a fit of frustration. She might actually answer this. “Just about every village has some kind of plot of land dedicated to medicaments. Why not just use theirs?”  
“It reminds _me_ that I have control,” she repeats, a ghost of a memory flitting across her face. “Segea kept one, and so I do too. It taught me patience, and will do the same for you.”

_I’m already patient enough,_ I think, swiping a hand over my dirty cheek and just adding more mud for my troubles. “Are we done yet?”

“We’ll work until I say we stop,” Lady Fennen replies serenely, her clippers _switch_ ing as she cuts down another weed.

I think of Samn again as I work, feeling myself abruptly questioning my _own_ gender, something I’ve hardly thought of since I was born. Samn’s question echoes. _How do you know?_ I told him the truth. I don’t, not really, but does anyone? I don’t feel the urge to change it, but I know that an urge to change isn’t the only way to be a switch-soul. _Would I feel more comfortable if I were a boy?_ I try to imagine it, looser shirts and white pants, no more skirts to scrunch while trying to ride a horse, and the eventual title of ‘Med.’ _Well, I think it’s stupid that we’re called ‘ladies’ but I don’t really want to be a man._

I glance at Lady Fennen, just in time to see her rub the dirt off a root and bite into it. She chews it for a second, then spits it out and tosses the root over her shoulder. _What the fuck?_ A laugh bubbles out of me. _Is that even edible? A lady indeed._

“What?” Lady Fennen frowns.

“What… what is that?”

“Licorice root,” she answers, looking over her shoulder and scowling at the root. “It’s rotten. Segea… she would always chew it after a patient died. She said there was some calming property, but it may have been an old myth. After Sir Plaite, I… picked up the habit.”

_Is that why her teeth are practically black?_ I wonder privately. _More like Black Fennen. Maybe it does help, though._ I think of Silaverre. “Hm. I could use some of it.”

“Well, too bad, it’s rotten.”

I purse my lips and wait until she looks away so I can roll my eyes. _Not right now, you old hag._ “Graie’ll need some, if the queen’s going to try to avoid a war.”

Lady Fennen pauses, gripping the clippers tightly. “I pray she does not. I would not want Sir Sterrip to suffer without his children the way… the way she did. But King Crukkedaro…”

She sighs and doesn’t finish her thought. “King Crukkedaro what?” I prompt.

“My life-force permits me to see things I’d rather not,” she admits. “I can feel… _too_ deep inside people, sometimes. The scars on their minds and hearts, some healed, some raw, some infected.”

_More riddles._ But it’s clear enough. _What is it about the king, though?_

“There is some… some sickness that affects the king,” she continues, gazing up at the sky as she speaks. “Something missing from his heart. Like someone cut out part of him and burned it. His daughter’s death is only going to exacerbate his pain, and I know that he won’t rest until he has every piece of her that lingers in this world.”

I remember Silaverre’s wide, greenish-blue gaze from my dream at the Lunar Temple. _To lose your daughter…_ It feels wrong somehow. _No parent should have to carry on without their child._ I feel torn in half, sympathizing with both Graie and King Crukkedaro. _Not the king, and not Graie._

“If you can feel someone’s inner injuries…” I begin hesitantly.

Lady Fennen nods, her face creasing with old pain. “Yes… I wondered if I could take it from them, too. I tried once, and swore off doing it after that moment. The Starlaxi only gives us burdens that we have the strength to bear. To take someone else’s trauma would be to go against their intention and to give away your own soul.”

Though I don’t voice it, I recognize her words as another instance of her leftover Shodawes beliefs. _The Starlaxi doesn’t give us burdens,_ life _gives us burdens. The Starlaxi is benevolent, why would they plague us with injuries and traumas? They are the source of strength that allows us to carry on._

“I see.”

“Remember _that_ , if not how to weed properly,” Lady Fennen urges me, her gaze flicking down to where my neglected spade lies in the dirt. Despite her words, there’s an intensity in her eyes. “If you give up yourself up for someone else, you should know that your path will lead to destruction.”

I nod, but can’t help a creeping feeling of _But couldn’t there be a time when being destroyed for another’s sake would be the best choice?_ My thoughts drift back to the king of Rivier. _I’m sure he would have given his life for Silaverre in an instant. Life’s never so poetic, though, is it?_

Lady Fennen collects the gardening tools and squirrels them away in the hollow base of the tree next to the garden, and we finally head back to the castle. My fingers are stiff with cold and grayed with dust, but I hardly notice them. I’m consumed with a feeling of apprehension, certain that the Riviens aren’t going to wait until the winter solstice to ruin either Graie or the king’s life.

I couldn’t have guessed how brazen they would be, though. As Lady Fennen and I near the castle, I feel the trace of Riviens. _Already?_ My stomach sinks. _No…_

But sure enough, as we scale the ladder and enter the castle, I feel the salt more and more strongly until they stand before us, unapologetic in full Rivien uniform. _They’re not going to wait for an answer._ All that remains to be seen is what the queen chooses. Graie stands beside her, looking silent and grim as death, and I know that someone’s heart will break tonight.


	26. Chapter 25 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oke doke, that wraps up book 3. Waning Moon, the AU of Rising Storm, will begin publication on Halloween. We're going back to once every five days when that happens, because with this, you're officially caught up to fanfiction.net!

Chapter 25 - Fiyr

“We had an agreement,” is all the queen says, a cold fire burning in her gaze as she regards the Riviens.

Lady Fore, at the head of their too-large patrol, folds her burly arms. Six or seven Riviens fan out behind her, and I recognize a few faces from the short time Graie and I spent in their encampment. “The king has decided we will not wait that long for the children to be placed in the proper care.”

The queen stands suddenly, the crown on her head lurching at the movement, and is nearly spitting as she says, “They belong with their father. You cannot rip them away from him.”

Rather than being drawn back into the same ring of arguments that the two women trod through together the last time they came for the children, Lady Fore shrugs almost insolently. “Then the king is prepared to take them by force.”

A breath hisses through my teeth before I can even form a thought. _By force? Like a kidnapper?_ My gaze swings to Graie and I see horror plain on his face. _They can’t! It would destroy him!_

“I will not permit this in _my own court_ ,” the queen answers, eyes flashing as her temper rises. My stomach turns. _This is going to escalate, I know it is._ The Riviens are already bunching closer together, and I can almost sense a hum of life-force as we all brace ourselves. “If it’s blood you want, you’ll have your due. They are Thundrian, and you will not steal them from us.”

Leaparra doesn’t shift an inch, not making any movement that anyone could interpret as a cue to attack, but I see an unyielding certainty in her eyes. _She’ll take them from us or die trying_. “You would accuse us of thievery for returning children to their rightful place?”

The queen doesn’t dignify that with an answer and just watches Leaparra, her expression verging on exhausted. _After what happened to Stowen and Meistya…_ My eyes drift to Graie. _There’s no chance in the Blacklands that she’d let it happen to him too. Then I guess it’ll be a fight._ My hand rests on _Fireheart_ ’s hilt.

“Well?” the Rivien captain asks, shifting her weight a little like she’s preparing to pounce. “What will it be, _Your Majesty_?”

Queen Bluelianna’s face is resigned. Graie steps forward, spreading his arms like he’s going to shield her with his body.

“No!”  
“Then we will—” Leaparra begins, and I know that the signal to attack is a twitch away. _I have to make sure Clowd doesn’t get involved—I’m one of the closest to the Riviens, so I—where’s Samn—we have to get the children into the nursery—_ But it doesn’t come.

“You’ll have them,” Graie says.

His words drop into the silence and I see the ripples through the faces of all of us; confusion being the common thread, shock from the Thundrians, and eventual relief and satisfaction in the Riviens. Neither the queen nor Lady Fore quite seem to process it for a moment.

“What…?” the latter finally asks. Her face has already taken on a feline shape as if she were preparing to trait and shred any knight too close.

“You will have the children,” Graie repeats.

My heart wrenches at the tremble in his voice, and I want to shout for him not to do it, but I see a resoluteness in his jaw that makes me certain it’ll only complicate the situation.

“Well,” Lady Fore says, and a rare smile tilts the edge of her mouth. “Good. I’m glad to see a Thundrian with sense.”

“Graie,” the queen murmurs, and when he turns back to capture her stare, I see fear in her eyes. _She knows… she knows what this will do to him._ “You aren’t of your right mind. We will stand with you to defend your right to those children.”

Lady Fore’s smile fades, but the triumph in her posture doesn’t. The Riviens have relaxed. _They know they’ve won._ It makes my skin burn, not just because they’ve taken something from us, but because they could think in terms of winning and losing when the future of innocent children is at stake.

“I know.” Graie’s voice breaks. “I _know_.”

I see it pass between them, the queen pleading Graie to think of his future without his children, against Graie’s decision, and his words. _I know this will destroy me._ How can he say that? _What is he doing?_ I swallow hard, flexing my fingers into fists and then out, caught in indecision. _Why would he do this to himself? I can’t help him!_

“You cannot live without your children,” the queen says, so softly that I wouldn’t be able to catch it unless I knew her secret, knew what she’s urging Graie to realize.

“I can’t,” he agrees. “I’m not letting them go alone; I’m coming with them to Rivier.”

_What…?_

The satisfaction vanishes from Leaparra’s face and she frowns, then shakes her head. “By the Blacklands, you are.”

Graie spins, tearing his gaze from the queen’s, and flings out his arms again to bare his chest and something seems to break in him. “Do you crave bloodshed? Do you _want_ battle between our kingdoms?! The king needs his grandchildren. I need my children. We are one and the same, and either of us will be destroyed without them; this has no end but all three of us joining your court, or blood. And _death_. And I will not endanger any of us.”

Leaparra is stunned out of words. Graie’s chest moves as he breathes heavily, his face flushed impassioned red and streaked with tears.

“Let him.” A soft voice, from the Riviens. It takes me a moment, but I recognize it when the man peels away from the other members of his court to move his captain’s attention to him. Sir Clah, the father of Meistya’s children, the ones we rescued. “Sir Sterrip has rescued my children, fed our court, and loved one of our own.” He shakes his head and his voice softens. “He can learn to be among us, and the king will accept him if it means the children come with us too.”

Lady Fore’s gaze swings from him to Graie, then back again, fraught with indecision. Finally, her look darkens and she says, “Very well. If the king agrees. Else we send him back without the children and take the debt of blood upon our swords.”

The queen’s lip curls at the captain’s theatrical words, but it softens to a deep, old ache of sadness when she looks down at Graie. “Sir Sterrip, is this truly what you choose?”

His gaze roves over the court, meeting his mother, half-brother, friends, _mine_ … I look at him, unable to stop the tears that balance in my eyes, and just shake my head. _Please don’t do this. I’d fight for your children and die if I had to, but I don’t want to lose you._ Then he looks away.

“Yes.”

My heart cracks, icy numbness sweeping over me.

“Give me one day,” Graie asks, directing it to Lady Fore. “To say good bye. I’ll bring them the sunrise after next.”

Lady Fore looks past him, as if her gaze can penetrate the walls of the nursery where his children lie sleeping. I see her open her mouth, ready to deny his request to re-establish her power, but Sir Clah touches her arm gently. Reminding her of why they’re really there. “Very well. No longer, though; we’ll return then to bring them to Rivier the day after next at sunrise.”

Graie nods, and I feel the whispers of the court around me fade until all I can hear is the thrum of my own heartbeat. _What is he doing?_ I look at Lady Peilte. _Her son is leaving!_ She is icily composed, but I can see the panic underneath the mask. Or maybe I’m just projecting my _own_ panic onto her.

_My_ friend _is leaving!_

I swallow hard, trying to hold myself together as the Riviens turn to leave. Lady Fore gives the queen one last, long look, and then swans right out our doors. Graie stands as still as stone for a second, and then hurries into the nursery. A single thought hasn’t even passed through my head before I’m crossing the room, pushing past everyone else, and rushing after him.

“Graie—” I can only say, all other words escaping me when he turns, looking so miserable than I feel my heart break in two.

I move toward him and he opens his arms, then I wrap mine around him, finally starting to cry. They blur into his uniform, and I feel his tight embrace around my shoulders, holding me together when I feel like I’m about to shatter.

“I’m sorry, Fiyr,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t go,” I whisper. “You don’t have to—we’ll fight for you.”

“I know. But I don’t want any more harm to come to anyone because of me.” He pulls away and I feel like a piece of my heart is pulled away too. “I have to do this. It’s the only option.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I’m transported back to years ago, when I lectured him about Silaverre, desperate not to lose him. I see the same headstrong, absolute certainty in his eyes again, and once again a terribly lonely part of me screams that I have to grab him and not let go, or lose him forever. _But that didn’t work then and it won’t work now._ I can only imagine how much worse this is going to be for him. _He’s going to lose everything_ except _his children. Learn a new life. He’ll be thrust into the unknown… and I won’t be there to help him._

The nursery is empty except for his children. Everyone else came out to observe the Riviens, and after Graie rushed in here, I don’t think any of the ladies of the court are going to disturb us. Now, Graie moves slowly to the edge of their bassinet. He reaches in gently, scooping his arms under one of them, and lifts them to his chest. The baby coos as he cradles them.

“They’ll demonstrate in Rivier,” I realize. “And they’ll have Rivien mentors and…” My voice fades right out of my throat. I press my eyes shut, willing away another sob. _Keep it together, for his sake at least._ “You’ll tell me their names, next Gathering? Or when they demonstrate?”

“I’m not naming them for their demonstrations,” Graie answers, still swaying a little. “I don’t want their lives to be determined by something that they can’t control.”

His gaze lifts, meeting mine, and I hear the meanings that echo in his silence. _They won’t have an easy life whether they’re raised here or in Rivier. No one should be judged by their birth, only by their actions. He and I know it well enough._ “Yes.” I swallow, trying to rally my strength and banish the encroaching feeling of loss. “Then for what?”

“Feather and storm,” he says, the answer readied. “I’ll ask the queen for their unique spellings before I leave. Something from _this_ court.”

I can’t help wondering if it will only make them stand out more, but maybe the queen will recognize that. I know she’d do just about anything to help Graie, now. “The queen didn’t want you to give them up.”

He nods. “I know. She made that clear enough. But I have to decide for myself, and I can’t let them go. I can’t let any harm come to you all either, though, so… this is the only way.”

I feel weakness swelling again, overtaking me, and I can’t stop myself from saying, “Please, Graie, please don’t go.”

“I have to.” His eyes light with some distant thought. “We have one more day, Fiyr, let’s not waste it. The queen won’t deny me now; we can go to the village of the Sun Rocks, see the sights. Remember… everything.”

Misery balls up in my throat, but I swallow it down for his sake. “Alright.”  
“One more day,” he repeats, and I close my eyes, knowing I’ll be spending it sleeplessly.

…

Three things have happened when I wake up.

One: For a glorious minute between sleep and wake, I forget what happened last night.

Two: Graie bursts through my door and throws an apple at me.

Three: I find out that Graie’s children have been named Storrem and Faetherra by the queen; the double-r in both names doesn’t go unnoticed by either Graie or I. _Their mother… Silaverre. An echo of her._

As I munch on my apple, Graie leads us out of the castle and to the stables.

“This is going to be the perfect day,” he says resolutely, looking more like he’s about to ride off to war than experience ‘the perfect day.’

“Alright,” I acknowledge, pressing the gaping loneliness that has already opened up inside me deep down. “What version of the perfect day involves a single piece of fruit for breakfast and waking up early?”

“This one.” Graie mounts Quicksilver. The cool autumn air is still and the sky mostly clear, so I’m not cold at least as we set off across the stone plaza.

“Where to first?” I ask.

“Cumulus, for a proper breakfast. The butcher’s stall of their farmer’s market sells a full plate of the best baked beans, sausage, potatoes, and bacon that you’ll ever eat.”

“How are you planning on paying for all this?” _Surely the queen didn’t open the coffers to pay for one day for Graie…_ I think she sees herself in him and his situation, but that seems frivolous, even if it _is_ his last day.

Graie flashes me a bitter smile. “Dad kicked the bucket last week. Apparently I was the only surviving heir. Well, his wife didn’t want anything to do with the estate, so now I’ve got a little fortune in gold and silver.”

_He’s dead?_ “I didn’t… how did it happen? When’d you find out?”

“Illness, and three days ago,” Graie answers briefly. I don’t think he wants to talk about it. “Haven’t spoken to him in years… and I guess he won’t be joining the Starlaxi. So. That’s that.”

“That’s that,” I echo. _What is he thinking…? His father…_ I can’t even picture the man. I think of Lady Peilte, her hair and smile showing in Graie, then think of Duss. _I guess he must have been short, to produce those two. And he would’ve looked like a villager, so his hair was probably brown, considering Duss._ Graie looks away.

“Whatever. I guess I have something to fall back on if the Riviens refuse to feed me,” he jokes, and I press down my sorrow to make way for a laugh.

“Won’t you be stuck on a boat?”

He shudders. “I hope that whole ‘sea legs’ thing is true, or I’m going to spend my Storrem and Faetherra’s childhoods puking up my guts.”

I soften a little. I can do this. “They’re beautiful names.”

“Yeah. I think the queen did a good job with them,” he murmurs. “I wonder if they’ll end up with life-force that matches them anyway.”

I laugh. _I guess that’s what the Starlaxi did to Graie, eh? Maybe accidentally-accurate names run in the family. Feather and storm are broad enough to apply to a bunch of different life-force types._ “Why’d you choose those words?”

He glances my way. “You really don’t remember?”

I blink.

“Light as a feather and quick as a storm,” he says. “Did I never tell you? Huh. My mother used it as a kind of… mantra, I guess, or motto, for how to deal with grief. Don’t let it cut too deep and don’t let it linger.”

“Easier said than done.”

He nods. “I think it was the only thing that kept me sane after… well, after a lot of things.”

At the reminder of what he’s been through, what _we’ve_ been through together, my breath is swept away again.

“C’mon. Light as a feather, let’s not dwell on it,” he reminds me. “Off to the breakfast-town.”

I huff, doing my best to breathe out grief and inhale peace. Or at least numbness. _One more day. Just… repress it all, for one day. For Graie’s sake, and for yours._ I’m going to need something to remember him by. Maybe that’ll be it; his impossible ability to keep up _some_ kind of spirit in the face of unspeakable loss.

We ride through the forest, the sharp scents of autumn rich on the air, and finally, I find a manageable place to put my emotions until tomorrow. Soon enough, the crunch of the drying leaves under Blitz and Quicksilver’s hooves lulls me into a state of forgetfulness. _Just another ride with Graie._

“This way!” Graie directs, and we swerve to the left of a fork and emerge into uncovered fields. Cumulus’s gates await us on the other end of the clearing.

I look off to our left, where the long yellow grass grows, following the curve down into a gently-sloped ravine. The water will be freezing soon. I avert my gaze, trying not to think about the future, and spur Blitz on. We ride up to the gates and Graie dismounts Quicksilver.

I do the same and let him take her reins, making uncomfortable eye-contact with the guards. When Graie returns, he strolls right into town without a pause and I quickly follow him.

It’s early morning, but the villagers are already up and about. Graie and I press ourselves to the edge of the road to avoid the oxen and horses that cart all manner of goods to and fro, and I follow him as he leads us into the middle of town.

It feels odd to be on foot in a village; it’s like an entirely different view of their world. On horseback, there’s no mistaking us for anyone but Thundrians, especially with our swords and uniforms. But Graie and I are cloaked in travelling-brown and we left our swords back in the castle, and now that Graie’s sent Blitz and Quicksilver off to the-Starlaxi-knows-where, we appear by all counts to be villagers.

I’m uncomfortable for a moment, fearing that we’re going to be stopped and have our identities questioned or something, but when no one does, I begin to settle into this new mask. Faces of all shapes and colours blur past, and I relish in the anonymity. _Just another villager, going about my day. Going to the farmer’s market with my friend; his jack-ass dad died and we’re going to sit down to breakfast today._ Nothing else matters.

“Here we are!” Graie exclaims, grabbing my arm and tugging me along. I think he’s using his nose, because all the stalls look the same to me; canvas rooves that flap occasionally in the breeze, wooden supports and makeshift tables with bright-faced villagers standing behind them, ready for exchanges.

“Where?” I ask, a little dizzied by all the people bustling around us.

It feels odd to be on foot, surrounded by so many people. It’s like a Gathering, but where everyone’s running around and holding a screaming baby in one arm and a basket of eggs and apples in another.

“Right over here.” I let Graie guide me and finally we escape the frenzy of the crowd. This stall is quite a bit larger than the others, two or three times the width, and I see that they have an entire kitchen set up, it seems like. “C’mon, what are you going to get?”

“I…” I blink, disoriented by both the sudden separation from the crowd and from the array of options spread out in front of me. A pane of glass is set up in front of them to protect them from the dust cloud that hovers at our knees. The smells waft off the hot trays and bowls, a heaping pile of sausages glistening with fat and peppered with seasonings, a deep basin of steaming baked beans that a young woman drizzles a thick, dark liquid into, then stirs vigorously, an empty tray that an older, pot-bellied man with a wiry black beard suddenly dumps a giant pan full of bacon onto, the grease spreading across the tray and then dripping over onto the table—

“Fiyr, there are people behind us,” Graie reminds me and I tear my eyes away from the feast on display.

“Um… I’ll just have what you’re getting,” I say.

“Great plan.” He turns to the same young woman who has abandoned the beans and moved back over to the main table that we’re standing by to take Graie’s money. “Two farmer’s plates.”

“Right on, honey,” she says, flashing him a gap-toothed grin and tucking the coins he offers into a little green belt that hangs low with pouches presumably full of other sales. She turns on her heel, one hand already moving to gather her thick black hair up into a length of twine, and hollers, “Papi! Two farmers!”

“Tell ‘em to get lost!” the man we saw before shouts back, standing over a stove by the back of the stall.

“No, _plates!_ ” She mutters something in a language I don’t recognize, then smiles at us again. “They’ll be out over there in a moment. Thanks! Next!”

A little dazed, I let Graie steer me away from the counter and over to where she indicated our food would be ready. He laughs when he sees my dumbfoundedness.

“Yeah, farmer’s market gets a little crazy,” he tells me, smiling in a more carefree way than I’ve seen from him in a while.

“I’m impressed,” I say when I’ve recovered the ability of speech. “It was all I could do to stay upright.”

“Like I said,” he shrugs, “they take their farmer’s market very seriously. And you’ll understand once you get a piece of that bacon in your mouth.”

“Looked good,” I agree, craning my neck to survey the crowd that whirls around us now that I’ve gotten my bearings back. “This is… crazy.”

Graie snorts. “Right? I always thought it was hilarious that the court teaches us that villagers have simple lives and less… urgency, y’know? I mean, look at this.”

“Yeah,” I agree, stumbling back to get out of the way of a man dashing after a chubby toddler that apparently broke away from his parents. “I’d take a proper battle with Shodawa’s worst than trying to fight my way over there.”

I motion to a particularly popular stall across the street and Graie nods.

“Apple cider samples,” he says sagely. “The queen might need to send in a patrol to break that up.”

Before I can reply, a skinny boy crashes right into Graie, sending him staggering back.

“Oi! Watch it!” Graie snaps, grabbing his own head like he bumped it.

The boy apologizes, wide-eyed, and reaches out to steady Graie, then disappears back into the crowd. I frown, watching him go. “Wow. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just a little... “ Graie shakes his head as if to clear his vision. “Yeah, I’m fine. Clumsy kid.”

“I think our food’s ready.”

Graie and I move over to the other counter, where a heavy-set boy who I’d guess is about fourteen has deposited two plates absolutely _towering_ with breakfast food. We take them and Graie leads me off, around the stall, to a clearer area. Children are running around with brightly coloured ribbons and scarves attached to strings, trying to catch enough of the lazy wind to make them fly, and a few temporary wooden tables with benches like the ones you’d find in Thundria’s dining hall have been set up.

We take one for ourselves and deposit the plates, then I realize we have no cutlery.

“I’ll get forks,” Graie offers.

“Thanks,” I say, feeling my stomach gurgle. When he’s gone though, I feel the sadness that I tried so hard to bury break free of its constraints. I have the ridiculous impulse to run after him and get the forks with him. _We only have today! I can’t be away from him for even a second!_ I swallow it down, though. _And you also can’t act like a crazy, tearful baby, but you’re doing a great job of it right now,_ I berate myself. _Compose yourself before Graie gets back._ When he reappears, though, I see the same tightness in his expression that makes me think he’s come upon a similar crack in our make-believe.

“Great, you’re back,” I say weakly. “I was… getting hungry.”

He smiles but it’s painful. Trying to push everything back into its little box, I take the offered fork and dig into the pile of potatoes and beans. Sure enough, the food is delicious, bursting with heat and flavour, but my stomach suddenly feels as small as a walnut.

“Alright?” Graie asks, his voice rough, as he sits and starts eating too.

“Yeah, just…” I shake my head.

“Quick as a storm,” Graie repeats, and swallows hard. “We can do it. So, um… we haven’t gotten a chance to talk in a while, huh? Samn’s captain, Cindra’s an official novitiate…”

The latter statement makes my mind jump back to that night, the sunset pierced by the Silverpeaks, the temple yawning before us, and the brush of Cindra’s lips against my cheek. “Yeah, and Sir Cawle’s finally gone.”

“I thought he never would be,” Graie admits. “He seemed so… immovable. Like a mountain or something.”

“A mountain that wanted us all dead.”

“Yeah, it was a bad metaphor,” Graie snorts. “I wonder what he’ll do now.”

“I don’t wanna know,” I reply, shivering a little at the thought of him being no longer bound by the eyes of the court or the code. “Join up with some mercenary gang?”

Graie huffs a laugh even though it wasn’t really a joke and then looks down at his plate. “Let’s stop talking about that. He’s gone and we don’t have to think of him ever again.”

Samn’s warning returns to me, but it’s not the time. “Yeah. What else did you have planned for today?”

Graie grits his teeth. “Seems like stupid shit now. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to waste the last day, but… I’m…”

His voice quivers and I feel us both being shifted toward the edge. _No, no, no, this can’t break apart now. C’mon Fiyr, think of something._ “I have an idea if you’re up for it.”

He looks up, distracted from his spiral, and tilts his head. “What is it?”

I look down regretfully at our breakfasts and wish I had the appetite. “Well, we’re going to need to go get Blitz and Quicksilver.”

Graie stands.

…

Ravne is thrilled to see us.

We meet him halfway into the open field that he seems to be scattering seeds across in rows. When his eyes land on us, he drops his bag and spade and races over the dirt to hug us.

I return his enthusiastic embrace with a few pats on the back, trying to avoid putting my hand on the sweat-dampened part of his cotton shirt.

“Fiyr and Graie! As I live and breathe,” he declares, eyes glowing. “It’s been so long!”

I can’t help a bit of a laugh at the declaration. _It really has._ He’s aged, I can see well enough, maybe put on the last inch that makes his chin at my nose-level, though he’s retained the lanky frame that I remember from our last visit. So familiar, and yet… not. _I wonder how much he’s changed._

“It’s good to see you,” Graie says softly, and it’s only then that I really remember how out of the loop Ravne is. I feel like I’m looking at Graie with fresh eyes for a moment, taking note of his pallor and deep purple under-eyes. _He looks like he’s been to the Blacklands and back._

“C’mon, I’ll get you guys some lunch! How long did the trip take?” Ravne asks, already bounding across the field toward the barn and the attached house like an overexcited sheep dog.

Graie and I jog after him and I answer, “Couple of hours. The queen’s given us the day off.”

“Ooh, why?” Ravne asks over his shoulder. “Did you save some children from peril or something?”

“That was a while ago.” I stifle a laugh at Ravne’s disbelieving look. “It’s a long story actually. I’ll tell you… um…”

I shoot Graie a questioning look and he tilts his shoulder in a _May as well_ motion. “Yeah, I’ll tell you over lunch.”

“Was it a pity day-off?” Ravne says when he sees the look that passes between Graie and I. “Did something happen?”

_What_ didn’t _happen?_ I wonder, suddenly questioning my suggestion to go visit Ravne. _Maybe dredging it all back up isn’t what Graie needs right now. But maybe if I fill Ravne in and Graie doesn’t have to…_ I grimace. _Graie and Ravne were friends long before I even came to Thundria. Maybe Ravne will actually be able to help him._

Dodging the coming storms hasn’t been working well so far. Giving Graie a chance to get it all out and cry for a while might work better. _Fuck, if nothing else_ I’d _like to cry for a while._

“Leigh’s been gone a couple days,” Ravne says conversationally, seeming to sense the tension of the unspoken history. “We’ll have the house to ourselves. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, I’m sure.”

_You don’t know half of it,_ I think, following Ravne through the front door.

“Take off your boots,” he directs us. “You can drop your cloaks on the banister if you like.”

I loosen the laces of mine and drop them next to another few pairs of work boots. _Are those all Ravne and ‘Leigh’s’?_ Graie follows suit.

“Jem and Alvie are visiting for seeding,” Ravne informs us, although this information clears up absolutely nothing.

_Who? What?_ I can’t help staring at Ravne as he takes Graie’s cloak and bundles it up, then hangs it over the post by the stairs. He removes his own thick brown, felted coat and drops it on top. He’s almost a stranger, but… I have years of hunting trips, long nights, shared meals with him all stored up in my memory.

“C’mon, sit down, I’ll make some tea,” Ravne suggests, herding us into the kitchen and then bustling over to the stove. “Alright, so catch me up! How are you guys? How’re Samn and Duss?”

Graie and I exchange a glance, and when Graie doesn’t open his mouth, I begin, “Well… Sir Cawle tried to murder the queen but she fended him off and then she exiled him.”

Ravne whips around, blue eyes wide. “Are you kidding me? That’s amazing! He’s really gone?”

I nod, suddenly remembering leaving him at the snowy barn almost a decade ago. _We said he’d be able to come back once Sir Cawle was gone._ But the man that’s standing in front of his stove, filling a kettle and putting it on for tea isn’t Ravne the squire. _He’s an outlander now. And he’s happier and more confident than I’ve ever seen him._

“Who’s the captain now?” he asks.

“You’re not gonna believe this…” I trail off. _I wouldn’t believe it either._

“Is it one of you?” he asks, excited.

“What? No, of course not.” I can’t help a snort at the idea. _Maybe in twenty years._ “It’s… Samn’s captain.”

“You’re kidding!” Ravne grins and turns down the burner on the stove as the kettle comes to a boil. “She must be enjoying ordering everyone around.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. _He’s…_ disconnected, I guess is how I’d put it. _We don’t live in some tidy little world where Sir Cawle disappeared and now Samn is a great captain and everyone loves her and everything’s gone back to normal in Thundria._ But I don’t want to tell Ravne all that. “Yeah, she is.”

“And what’s going on in your lives?” he asks, his tone lowering a little as if he can sense something’s deeply wrong.

Graie swallows and I see that he’s been stiff since we sat down. _I’m going to have to tell Ravne._ “Well, uh… Samn and I are together. Not United yet, but we’re… we’re talking.”

“Of course,” Ravne answers, eyes sparkling. “I saw that coming a mile away.”

“Haha, yeah,” I say, shifting. “And Graie… Ravne, maybe you should sit down.”

Ravne’s brow creases in worry and he comes over to take a seat next to Graie. “What happened?”

Graie finally speaks. “Well, the short form is that I fell in love with King Crukkedaro’s daughter, we had two kids together, she died in childbirth, and now I’m going to have to go live in Rivier with them to avoid a war between our kingdoms.”

Ravne freezes, grappling with all that Graie has just dumped on him. Graie’s hazel gaze is flat and numb, and I reach over to squeeze his hand.

“What…?” Ravne is still blinking hard as if it’ll clear his thoughts. “I’m… you have kids? And she… she died?”

I nod, feeling my heart wrench for Graie all over again.

“Her name was Silaverre and I loved her,” Graie says simply. “And now… I’m going to lose everything.”

Ravne is still for another moment, then turns and wraps his long, skinny arms around Graie and pulls him against his chest. Graie crumples against his old friend and we don’t move for a long time. I meet Ravne’s gaze over Graie’s head, and I see deep empathy, a world of borrowed pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Graie,” he murmurs. “I had no idea. I’m… so sorry.”

And Graie starts to cry.

I feel the box I shoved all my fear and loss into this morning crumble and it all spills out of me. _I’m going to lose him._

“I lost her… and now I’m going to lose Fiyr and my mom and Duss and—” Graie hiccups through the tears and Ravne holds him tighter. “I don’t know if I can do it. I’m—how am I supposed to raise my _kids_ and learn how to live in Rivier and—”

“It’s going to be okay,” Ravne says gently and Graie muffles another cry in his shirt.

_It definitely isn’t,_ I think, but hearing one person keep it together in this raging storm of sorrow calms a very young part of me that’s still looking for a parent to hold onto. _But what can I do? This is Graie’s choice, his choice for his children, the king of Rivier…_ It’s just going to break my heart.

We leave Ravne’s house as the sun starts to set. I feel weakness setting in at my edges, all my worst instincts wailing to sink my fingers into Graie and hold on tight, and this time I’m too exhausted to fight it off.

As we begin to trace the border of Wynnd and the lawless lands once more on horseback, I start crumbling. I don’t dare speak, the whole journey back to Thundria. We make it back in darkness. It’s once we return Blitz and Quicksilver to their stables when Graie suddenly cries out.

“Fiyr!”

“What, Graie?” His tone sets panic blazing through me and I fumble toward him in the dark. He collapses into me. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“The locket,” he’s half-sobbing through his words, “the locket’s gone! I—I must have lost it or dropped it or—”

“Graie! Fiyr! Come quick!” It’s Cindra, from the backdoor to the kitchen. Orange light spills out from inside onto the dark leaves and I steady Graie.

“What is it, Cindra?” I call to her, swallowing down my panic on Graie’s behalf. _It was all he had of her, other than Storrem and Faetherra…_

“A demonstration!”

And then I hear the wings. We’re on the wrong side of the castle, so I don’t see them, not yet, but the woosh of the night air is unmistakable. It sounds like a massive flock of birds.

“Graie, it might be…” I’m hesitant to say it for fear of being wrong— _It could be one of Goldanna’s_ —but there’s no way in the Blacklands I’m letting Graie miss the demonstration of one of his children. “Come on.”

I half-drag him around the castle to meet Cindra and she ushers us out to the other side of the castle, where the squire’s stables are. There’s a window into the nursery in the stone wall of the castle as well, and I see that Faetherra and Storrem are still laid on their bassinet in there. Storrem’s awake.

“Blessed Starlaxi,” I breathe when the dark sky on the other side of the castle finally comes into view.

For a moment I didn’t even realize they were birds. A sea of black with flashing white and silver specks blots out the moon, the sound of wings beating and piercing squeaks, all layering over each other in cacophony. I take a half-step back instinctively, but the birds aren’t diving.

I peer closer and notice that what I previously thought was the white chests and feathers of the birds isn’t _just_ natural; they’re holding things. Bits of foil, shiny rocks, silver chains swing from beaks, a dazzlings display as they catch the moonlight.

“Blessed Starlaxi,” Graie echoes.

_I wonder if it’s Faetherra._ I recall my connection between Graie’s life-force and his namesake.

“Magpies,” Cindra breathes.

They begin to drop their wares. Bits of silver paper flit through the wind, while the rings and earrings and necklaces plummet to the trees without hesitation. Graie gasps, and then tears out of my arms and dashes into the spray of silver, not paying any mind to the bits of metal and rounded glass that beat on his head and back.

He crouches and grabs something, then quickly retreats out of the onslaught. And then he laughs. It’s the brightest, most beautiful sound I’ve heard in months. He laughs until he runs out of breath, and then he hurries back over to us, opening his hands to show me what’s nestled in his pale palms.

The locket catches the starlight as it’s jostled by his hands shaking.

“He found it for me,” Graie murmurs, then his voice rises into a shout as he whirls around, opening his arms to the sky with the locket swinging from his fingers, and tells the Starlaxi, “My son is a magpie-summoner!”

_How does he know it was Storrem?_ I wonder, but there’s not much room for much else in my mind when I’m brimming with so much bittersweet love.

Then the storm of birds begins to alleviate, most of the flock taking to the skies in a massive updraft. A few dozen don’t, though; they swoop lower, blowing past our faces and come to alight on the outside of the nursery’s window.

Graie, without missing a beat, runs after them and tries to wrench the window open from the outside. It must be locked, though, because he whirls around and starts running back toward the kitchen’s door.

“Don’t leave!” he tells the birds. “Don’t go just yet, I’ll let you in.”

_Is he talking to the birds?_ A helpless laugh sneaks out of me and I run after him.

I make it into the nursery in time to see Graie unhooking the window’s lock and throwing open the shutters to allow in the night’s air. The magpies hop up, disturbed by the shutters swinging, and then file into the nursery almost shyly.

Graie practically waves them over to Storrem and Faetherra’s sleeping forms and hovers nearby as the magpies gently alight on the edge of their cradle. It’s an almost absurd sight, all these birds clustered around the babies as if they’re an extended family coming to welcome the new additions.

I inch closer, not wanting to frighten the birds, and watch as Storrem shifts on his pillow, then extends a chubby little hand toward the nearest magpie, that lowers its beak gently to poke his finger. Storrem giggles, then the birds take flight once more.

“Amazing…” Graie murmurs, watching as they all leave through the window, and then the room is quiet once more. “I’m… glad.” He turns his eyes to me and nods once, firmly, as if he’s locking it into place. “He demonstrated in Thundria, and she’ll demonstrate in Rivier. They really are half-court.”

His voice has a slight tremor, as if he might be edging back towards tears, and I reach for him. He touches my shoulder lightly, then turns back to his children.

“He found her locket,” Graie says softly, reaching in to cradle Storrem in his hands. “He… he saved me.”

I close my eyes tightly, warding off the emotional ball that threatens to choke me.

“And we’ll be gone tomorrow,” he whispers.

Something breaks apart inside me and I let out a soft cry. “Graie…”

He turns back to me, face curling with pain, and shakes his head. All trace of joy from his son’s demonstration has been chased away by his own reminder of our future. “Don’t, Fiyr.”

But I’m too weak. “Don’t leave, please don’t.”

Graie shuts his eyes as my plea rolls off him, like he’s trying to gather his strength. “I can’t, you know I can’t.”

“We still need you,” I say.

“I…” He swallows and I see what’s been missing from his gaze all day. Indecision. It feeds me briefly in a blaze of hope— _is he reconsidering?!_ “I can’t.”

I can’t speak for a long time. Eventually, he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, Fiyr. I’ll miss you,” he says, and I hear the volumes of unspeakable pain, memories, wishes, dreams, all stolen—then he adds, “but you’ll get over me, won’t you? I want you to be happy.”

“I can’t be, not without you.”

“Yes, you can. You’ll get over me,” he repeats, gaining a note of confidence that I don’t have. “Light as a feather, quick as a storm, remember?”

I don’t want to open my mouth because I know I’m going to cry, so I nod instead, even though it doesn’t feel like it’s true. Then he steps forward and hugs me. I hug him back as tightly as I can manage, trying to keep a copy of Graie with myself in this moment forever.

The next day, he’s gone.

Everything changes.


End file.
